


In the (Un)Dead of the Night

by wilddragonflying



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Teen Wolf (TV), Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Angst, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Play, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mates, Mutual Pining, Packs, Pining, Sass as a form of courtship, Supernatural Transformations, Twilight-Inspired AU, putting these in after chapter 9 bc uh, they’re more relevant now lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-02-29 06:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: They find the leech in the attic, matching the description of Ortiz’s roommate - but he’s already dead, too.And he’s… extremely mutilated. Like, the only recognizable part is his fucking face, mutilated.Connor’s horrified, but Hank’s grim. He can smell mistletoe on the corpse, the scent making his own nose burn, and he really doesn’t like the implications of that.Last fucking thing he needs is a coven civil war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bastardized mess of mythologies flagrantly taken from both Twilight and Teen Wolf, and I apologize for nothing.
> 
> Inspired by this post, though the plot for this ended up changed quite a bit ^.^ 
> 
> https://connorssock.tumblr.com/post/184736073121/i-am-absolutely-not-catching-up-on-the-horror-that

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

Hank grunts, glancing over his shoulder. The scent of alcohol is heavy, sharp in the air - whiskey’s the most prominent, considering that’s what’s in the glass in his hand. Standing next to him is some… some _kid,_ Christ. He’s looking at Hank assessingly - and Hank’s initial dismissal of him is revoked at the calculating look in his eyes. Hank’s eyes narrow. “What d’ya want?”

“You’ve been assigned a case - you and Detective Reed. My brother has gone to pick up his own erstwhile partner, and I’m here to collect mine.” The kid’s gaze never leaves his face for more than a moment, but the way it moves tells Hank everything he needs to know; he’s studying Hank, and he’s not terribly impressed with what he sees. Well, fuck him.

“I ain’t going anywhere with some strange kid,” Hank snorts, turning back to his drink. “Tell Fowler to come pick me up himself.”

“He would have, had your phone been on.” The kid’s voice is sharp, and Hank turns to look at him, almost dumbfounded; _no one_ speaks to him like that. “He attempted to call you multiple times and inform you of our new partnership, but each call went directly to voicemail. He informed me I could likely find you out drinking - I was… _lucky_ to find you at the fifth bar.”

“That’s nice, but I still don’t know your name,” Hank says, for lack of anything better.

“Detective Connor Stern,” is the answer; the kid - _Connor_ \- holds himself with an almost-easy confidence, the kind that says he knows his own strength, but he’s in new circumstances. Now that he’s thinking about it, Hank _does_ vaguely remember Jeffrey saying something about him and Reed getting the new transfers as partners.

Vaguely.

“Uh-huh,” Hank says, stalling for time. “What’s the case?”

“I can explain in the car,” Connor says, glancing at Hank’s drink. “Do you… _really_ need to finish that?” he asks doubtfully.

 _And,_ Hank’s back to glaring. “I ain’t leaving this stool until this glass is empty,” he says - growls, really, and has to fight against the itch in his gums.

Connor’s head tilts to the side, gaze narrowing in thought, and then, quicker than Hank can track - which, really, just shows how far he’s fallen - he’s reached out, snatched the glass from Hank’s hand, and _emptied it onto the bar floor._ He puts it back on the bar upside-down, and then gives Hank a winning smile. “There, now we can go.”

Hank’s moving before he’s consciously thought about it, surging out of his seat to grab Connor by the front of his shirt, lifting the kid clear off the ground. “You fucker, I don't know what’s stopping me from throwing your ass out into the street,” he growls, the itch in his gums growing harder to ignore.

Connor’s eyes go wide as he meets Hank’s - and Hank has a brief moment of worry that he slipped - before they narrow. “Because the Captain already told me about the size of your disciplinary folder, and despite the fact that you’re drinking on the clock, I really don’t think you want to leave the police force, much less get kicked off,” he retorts. “You still have a sense of duty, Lieutenant, and it’s not going to let you punch out a rookie.”

“If you’re a transfer, you’re not a damn rookie,” Hank growls, but he drops Connor roughly before fishing out some money to toss onto the bar. “Fine, Jesus. Get your ass in the car, kid.”

Connor gives him a smile that Hank would call ‘smug’ if not the softness around his eyes. “Thank you for your cooperation, Lieutenant.”

He’s gone before Hank can come up with something to say in response.

* * *

When they pull up outside of the address Connor had given him, Hank briefly debates ordering Connor to stay in the car. That plan is quickly nixed when Connor immediately opens the door, stepping out and up to someone who, if not for the grey eyes and additional inches of height, could be his twin. Hank can just barely hear their greeting over the din of the sirens and journalists and general onlookers; he gathers that this is the brother Connor had mentioned, Reed’s new partner. Connor calls him ‘Nines,’ which can’t be his real name, but calling the two of them ‘Detective Stern’ is going to get confusing real fast, Hank already knows.

“Well, hell, we weren’t sure he’d be able to find you,” Ben laughs. “Guess they make them good in Ann Arbor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank grumbles. “What’ve we got, Ben?”

Ben sighs. “Carlos Ortiz, dead for about two weeks it looks like - and he’s like the others.”

Hank curses under his breath - then curses even more heavily as they cross the threshold and the smell hits him properly. Even missing the majority of the blood in his body, Ortiz’s body _stinks_. Above his head, there’s the same graffiti found on the two other bodies they’ve found with severe blood loss - _We Are Alive_.

Hank runs through the usual procedure, asking all of the usual questions and generally ignoring Connor and his brother - and Reed, but that should go without saying, since all Reed ever does at crime scenes is bitch or make inappropriate jokes. Connor shadows Hank without getting in his way, something that Hank’s grudgingly impressed with, and Nines seems to be getting into an argument with Reed, but Hank quickly tunes them out.

After he’s done examining Ortiz’s body, Hank shoves himself to his feet with a groan. Ben had long ago left, pleading the need for fresh air. Connor’s right beside him, and Hank looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Alright, kid. Fowler paired you up with me on this case, show me what you’ve got.”

Connor’s expression twitches when Hank calls him ‘kid,’ but he doesn’t comment, instead launching into a detailed summarization of every clue they’ve collected so far - including the signs of struggle in the kitchen. Hank has to give him credit; it’s a solid theory, that Ortiz’s roommate or someone known to one or both of them attacked him, though Connor admits - nose scrunching in a way that Hank tells himself is absolutely _not_ adorable - he has no idea what could have caused the severe blood loss at the moment.

Hank has an idea, but it’s not something he can share with Connor. He’ll have to pass it along to Jeffrey himself, and he already knows the reaction he’ll get.

“Well, it looks like there isn’t anything else for us to do here,” he sighs. “Besides legwork, getting statements, that sort of thing.”

“The attic door is ajar,” Connor points out. “Perhaps we should check up there, to be thorough?”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “You really think there’ll be anything worth looking into up there?”

Connor shrugs one shoulder. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

Hank considers that for a moment before groaning. “Alright, fine. Grab one of the upright chairs from the kitchen, one of the ones CSI already cleared. We’ll take a look.”

Connor perks up at the order, immediately darting to the kitchen to find a suitable chair. Hank ventures into the hallway with the attic door, and when he spots the shadow of a missing ladder on the wall, he sighs. _Great._ He really fucking hopes that the leech used the attic to escape out of in order to throw off police, and isn’t still up there. That’ll be difficult to explain on the first day of the job to Connor.

Of course, Hank’s luck isn’t that good; they find the leech in the attic, matching the description of Ortiz’s roommate - but he’s already dead, too.

And he’s… _extremely_ mutilated. Like, the only recognizable part is his _fucking face,_ mutilated.

Connor’s horrified, but Hank’s grim. He can smell mistletoe on the corpse, the scent making his own nose burn, and he really doesn’t like the implications of that.

Last fucking thing he needs is a coven civil war.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as they enter the precinct, Reed and Hank are pulled into the captain’s office; through the glass, Connor can see the three of them talking in hushed tones. Captain Fowler doesn’t look terribly pleased with whatever they’re telling him, and he abruptly remembers the fact that he’d spilled the lieutenant’s drink in order to get him out of the bar faster.

Fuck, Connor hopes they’re not talking about _him._

“Relax.” The word, combined with the sudden hand on his shoulder, makes Connor jump, but he’s already scowling as he turns to face his brother. It still rankles that his _younger_ brother is taller than him, even more so when Nines uses that height to look at Connor patronisingly, like he is now. “You wouldn’t have gotten Lieutenant Anderson out of that bar any faster any other way. And you’re the one who suggested checking the attic, otherwise we might not have found the second vic so soon. You’re fine.”

Connor shrugs his hand off, still nervous. “Yeah, but you didn’t see the way the Lieutenant acted the whole drive back. He barely looked at me.”

“I gather he’s not the most social even when he isn’t drunk or hungover,” Nines says dryly. “Why don’t you focus on getting your terminal set up? We didn’t exactly get a chance to do that before this case came in.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I did it yesterday,” Nines says, smug; he just laughs when Connor punches him in the arm. “I told you I was coming by the precinct, offered you a ride!”

“I was _busy_ yesterday, asshole,” Connor complains. “Y’know, meeting with our landlord and getting all the utilities set up?”

“Now you need to go get your terminal set up,” Nines says reasonably, and Connor socks him again before retreating to his desk, grumbling under his breath and ignoring Nines’ laughter.

By the time Hank stomps over to his desk, Connor’s already set up and may or may not have done some light snooping around Hank’s desk. Connor takes a moment to assess Hank’s demeanor - pissed about something, lost in his own thoughts, tense posture speaking to there being more than just the case on his mind. “Good morning, Lieutenant,” Connor hazards, offering Hank a smile when he glances up at Connor. “I take it the meeting with the Captain didn’t go well?”

Hank snorts. “Same way it’s gone for the other bodies,” he mutters, arms uncrossing so he can lean forward and poke at his own terminal. “And now he’s stuck me and Reed with you two.”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “You’re against having a partner?”

“I’m against having a partner who’s new to Detroit,” Hank corrects, looking at Connor with a raised eyebrow of his own. “At least you’re not a complete rookie,” he allows after a moment.

Connor’s not sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all, pulling up the files on the other three bodies that have been reported with the same suspicious lack of blood. The two of them work in near-silence for a while, the only sounds the background hum of the precinct and the sounds of keys clacking. Eventually, Connor takes a breath and asks, “You have a dog, right?”

Hank startles, bashing his elbow into his desk, and Connor winces. “How do you know that?”

“There’s dog hairs on your jacket, and the back of your chair,” Connor points out, manfully resisting the urge to shrink under Hank’s scrutiny. “I like dogs,” he adds, unable to take the silence or Hank’s stare. “What’s your dog’s name?”

Hank squints at him for a moment before relenting. “Sumo. Great big ol’ fat Saint Bernard who farts a lot.”

Connor feels himself perk up. “I like big dogs! We had a Newfoundland, growing up. Nines is more of a cat person, and our apartment doesn’t allow pets, unfortunately. Do you have any photos?”

He doesn’t let himself feel ashamed when Hank looks at him like he’s crazy - but he does beam when Hank pulls out his phone and flicks to a photo album before handing it over. “There,” he grunts, turning back to his terminal.

Connor’s grin widens as he takes in the photos, outright laughing at one of Sumo with the trash can lid stuck around his neck. “Oh, he looks like such a good boy,” he says, handing the phone back. “Even if he gets into your trash.”

The corner of Hank’s mouth twitches, like it’s trying to smile without his permission. “That was partly my own fault; threw some burned hamburgers in there,” he admits, and Connor grins.

Before he can say anything else, however, one of the patrol officers comes over. “Lieutenant, we’ve got another one.”

Hank straightens, and Connor does as well, all previous signs of mirth dropping from their expressions immediately. “Already?” Hank demands, already pushing himself to his feet; Connor follows suit.

“Yes, sir. Found in an abandoned house across from a convenience store; I’ve got the address here.”

Hank swears under his breath, and then glances at Reed and Nines, who are watching them avidly. “Stay here, keep working on last night’s vics, see if you can find any sort of connection to the others,” he orders. “Connor and I will go check this out.”

‘Yes, sir,” Nines says immediately while Gavin gives a lazy salute. Connor’s already waiting by Hank’s side, so the two of them leave as soon as they have the address.

* * *

The victim is horribly mutilated, and has a noticeable lack of blood, just like Ortiz and his roommate. The mutilation is different this time - centered around the face instead of the arms or chest - and it’s bad enough to hinder identification.

“Looks like our John Doe has been living rough here for a while,” Hank says thoughtfully, gesturing towards the kitchen. When Connor looks in, he sees various kitchen utensils scattered about, as well as several cans of food.

“I’m going to go check upstairs,” he says after a moment. “See if there’s anything that might help us identify him while we’re waiting on dental records.”

Hank nods. “I’ll look around a bit more outside,” he decides. “Let me know if you find anything.”

Hank claps him on the shoulder as he passes by, and Connor freezes under the touch - then immediately curses himself for it and the flush of warmth the touch had sent through him. Giving himself a shake, Connor mounts the stairs.

The upstairs rooms are in a similar condition to the living room and kitchen downstairs; a few personal effects, nothing that would help them identify their victim. As he approaches the bathroom, however, Connor suddenly catches the scent of something sickly-sweet.

Stomach rolling, he steps through the door, gaze sweeping the room. There’s nothing but the mirror, but in the mirror he can see the shower curtain. Taking a deep breath - through his mouth, as the scent is almost overwhelming now - he carefully pushes the curtain aside with the barrel of his pistol.

He’d pretty much expected it, but the sight of another unnaturally-pale body is still a punch to the gut. Connor has to back out of the room quickly, taking quick, deep breaths in through his mouth. When he reaches the hallway window, he glances out and catches sight of Hank… kneeling by the fence? It looks like he’s lifting something to his face, almost.

Shaking his head, Connor raps on the window with his knuckles to catch Hank’s attention; when he has it, he gestures for Hank to join him inside, and moves to wait for him by the top of the stairs.

“Jesus, Connor, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Hank says, scowling. “What did you find?”

“Another body,” Connor says, leading the way down the hallway. “In the tub of the bathroom.”

Hank swears violently enough to make Connor raise an eyebrow when he catches sight of the body, gingerly moving the curtain out of the way so that he can move closer. Connor follows suit, a frown crossing his face when he catches sight of a shadow on the second John Doe’s neck - for a moment, before Hank’s shadow covers it, it almost looks like a _bite_.

But that’s crazy; vampires aren’t real. Even if it _would_ explain the lack of blood in all of the victims, it wouldn’t explain the mutilation.

But vampires don’t exist, so that’s not a viable theory.


	3. Chapter 3

The scents and sounds of the overpass that ChickenFeed is tucked under are nearly overwhelming, but honestly Hank’s glad of it. He’s spent the last two hours squeezed into a car with Connor and his questions and his  _ scent _ and Hank’s almost reached his breaking point.

He’s old enough to have better control than this, damn it; no matter how alluring Connor smells, he shouldn’t be getting this worked up. Even if it’s been forever since he’s gotten laid. 

Hank welcomes the distraction of bantering with Pedro over a bet while waiting for his food, but almost as soon as Pedro’s gone, there’s the sound of footsteps coming up behind him, and then someone’s elbow nudges against his. Hank doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Connor, and he barely suppresses a groan, deciding to at least  _ try _ being civil. “You want something?” It comes out more of a grunt than an attempt at polite conversation, and Hank winces.

“I just wanted to apologize for… overwhelming you in the car,” Connor says; when Hank glances at him, Connor’s studying Hank with an open, curious expression. It’s almost too much to take, and Hank rolls his eyes.

“You’re new to Detroit, the questions are expected,” he mutters, offering Gary a nod of thanks when he passes over his food. Resigning himself to his new follower, Hank moves over to one of the standing tables. “You also got assigned one of our more interesting cases of the decade.”

Connor hums through the frown he’s now directing at Hank’s food. “You know, that contains way more cholesterol than the recommended daily value,” he points out, and Hank doesn’t bother resisting the snort.

“Everyone’s gotta die of something,” he counters, because it’s a lot more in character with the persona he’s spent the past couple of years cultivating than ‘I’m a werewolf, high cholesterol isn’t a problem.’

Connor rolls his eyes, and Hank smirks. “And I suppose you’re not concerned about the fact that the health inspection for ChickenFeed is five years out of date?”

“Nope,” Hank says easily. “I haven’t gotten sick yet.”

Connor shakes his head at that, but he’s smiling. “Well, since we’re partners now, is there anything you want to know about me?”

Hank thinks about it for a moment. “Yeah, how fucking old are you, and how the fuck did your brother get the name ‘Nines’?”

Connor laughs. “I’m twenty-nine,” he says, smirking. “And he got the nickname because that was the average number of days he could go in school before getting in trouble, usually for punching somebody.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “Punching somebody?”

“Bullies, once or twice a jock who tried to make himself look cool,” Connor elaborates. “Nines was never the aggressor, but he doesn’t take anyone’s shit.”

“Huh.” Hank chews thoughtfully on his burger for a moment before asking, “So why police work?”

Connor shrugs. “I wanted to help make a difference,” he says. “I always loved mysteries, and hated bullies. Nines may have been more physical, but I was usually the reason they got suspended. Figured there were plenty of other people in the ‘real world’ evading justice, might as well try to fix that.”

Hank laughs. “And homicide?”

Connor’s expression twists. “That was a bit accidental. But Nines got promoted to homicide, and our old captain offered me the promotion as well, said that she could use both of us in her unit. Then we decided we wanted to move, so she put in the recommendation to Captain Fowler.”

Hank hums thoughtfully. “Why the move?”

“Our mother - adoptive - is getting older, we wanted to be closer to her,” Connor says. “She’s had a couple of health scares lately. We could afford the move, and we didn’t want to ask her to move out of the city she’s lived in all her life.”

Hank nods in understanding. “Family’s important,” he says, then hesitates as a thought occurs to him. “So. If you’re that good at investigating, I bet you’ve done all your homework, right? Know everything there is to know about me?”

“I have,” Connor says, and when he hesitates before continuing, Hank’s stomach threatens to tie itself into knots and send the burger back up for a second taste. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath, and then says, “I know you graduated top of your class. You made a name for yourself early in your career, and became the youngest lieutenant in Detroit. I also know you’ve received several disciplinary warnings recently, and you… You spend an awful lot of time in bars.”

Hank nods slowly, swallowing down the bile threatening to rise up at Connor’s careful wording of all of his fuck-ups. “So,” he says, voice rough, making himself meet Connor’s gaze, “what’s your conclusion?”

Connor doesn’t answer for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I think working with an officer with…  _ personal difficulties _ is an added challenge, but I’ve never shied away from one yet.”

Then he fucking  _ winks _ at Hank, and Hank nearly chokes on his drink. Hank splutters, nearly covering the sound of the radio, and Connor, grinning, answers while Hank tries to get himself back under control. 

He moves away from the table to do so, and by the time Hank’s ready to go, Connor’s waiting by the car. “There’s been reports of suspicious smells coming from an abandoned apartment building not far from here,” he informs Hank. “Fowler asked us to check it out since we were in the area.”

“Suspicious how? Did he say?”

Connor shakes his head. “The neighbor said that they had their window open and caught a scent like an older butcher’s place she used to live next to out in the country.”

“Great,” Hank mutters. “Alright, hop in and gimme the address.”

* * *

Hank can smell the blood as soon as the elevator passes the third floor. It’s nearly masked by the overwhelming scent of pigeons - damned flying rats - but it’s unmistakeable after being in homicide for so long. He doesn’t say anything until Connor’s nose wrinkles as he steps out of the elevator on the top floor. “Yeah, you never quite get used to that smell,” Hank offers, stepping out and waiting for Connor to join him.

“I don’t see how  _ anyone _ could,” Connor retorts, stepping over a rather large pile of pigeon shit as they head towards the only non-boarded door on the floor. “Looks like the boards were pried off fairly recently.”

“Yep,” Hank says, standing to the side and gesturing for Connor to knock. His hand rests on his pistol, just in case, but he doesn’t hear anything from the apartment beyond - yet.

Connor knocks once, waits a moment, and then a second time, harder. “Open up, Detroit Police!” he calls, pitching his voice to carry - and almost immediately, there’s a bang and the sound of footsteps in the apartment loud enough for even Connor to hear. He looks at Hank, eyes wide, but Hank’s already focusing on the door, gun drawn. 

“Stay behind me,” he orders, pleased when Connor immediately obeys. He hears Connor’s own holster button click, knows he’s drawn his own gun, but Hank’s already busy focusing on entering the apartment, kicking the door open swiftly.

The two of them clear the first set of rooms quickly, and then Connor waits for Hank to open the second door leading into the main part of the apartment - but as soon as he does, he’s immediately surrounded by scattering pigeons. “What the  _ fuck! _ ” he shouts, one arm up to shield his face. “What the fuck is all this?”

“Pigeons, it would seem,” Connor says, entering behind him and casting a critical eye. “I’d say more than a hundred - probably because whoever’s been in here has been feeding them.” He gestures toward the counter, where Hank can barely see, through the stirred-up feathers, a bright box filled with birdseed. 

“Why the fuck would anyone bother feeding this things?” Hank growls, stomping toward the windows and opening one. “Jesus, I need some air before I have a fucking asthma attack.”

Connor laughs quietly behind him, already moving through the apartment, and Hank ignores him for the moment, starting with the opposite end. He keeps his ears tuned - his nose is useless, with the scent of pigeon shit so heavy in the air, it’s impossible to pinpoint anything. He finds an encrypted notebook in a cubby behind a poster, tucks it into an evidence bag to take back to the precinct just in case.

“Holy  _ fuck, _ ” comes from the bathroom, and Hank’s over there faster than he can blink, and then immediately sneezes from the stirred up feathers.

“What?” Hank asks, and then immediately spots what got Connor’s attention - there’s bloody  _ claw marks _ all over the wall, and blood in the sink, splattered over the floor. “Holy fuck,” Hank echoes, pulling Connor back closer to him by the arm. “Okay, that’s - We might be dealing with an addict, here.”

Connor doesn’t say anything; when Hank glances at him, he’s scrutinizing the room, like he can deduce something from the chaos within. After a moment, he turns around, squeezing around Hank and moving back into the main room, searching for a moment before he squats down next to a broken bird cage. 

“What’re you doing, kid?” Hank asks, equal parts amused and curious.

“This was only recently knocked off of its hook,” Connor says, glancing up at Hank before he pushes himself back to his feet. “There’s fresh marks here, on the side, that are clear of dust, and the loops is newly-broken.”

Moving closer, Hank is surprised to see that Connor’s right. “Huh. So our suspect is still here?”

“Most likely,” Connor confirms. “There’s no other way out of the apartment except the windows, and they were all intact and closed when we arrived.”

“Well, well,” Hank hums, focusing his hearing  _ up. _ He’s not surprised to see Connor glancing that way as well, and the both of them focus on an armchair directly beneath a hole in the ceiling at the same time. Glancing back at each other, they unholster their guns once more, and advance on the chair.

Hank hears scrabbling a split second before something drops onto his head, knocking him to the ground. He gets the barest scent of old blood and dust and  _ mistletoe _ before the weight is gone, crashing out of the doorway - and before he can say anything, Connor’s bolted after their suspect. “Shit!”

Hank rolls to his feet, grimacing at the feel of dried pigeon shit on his hands, before launching himself in pursuit. By the time he hits the rooftop field, he can see Connor and the leech climbing onto the next building over, and he changes course, trying to head them off. If Connor has to face off against a mutant like that on his own, Hank doesn’t like his odds.

He’s just barely too slow to catch the two of them sliding onto the passing monorail, and he curses heavily before trying the next path. Connor’s good, fast - almost as fast as the mutant. But Hank knows the city better, and he’s got supernatural speed on his side as well, and the next rooftop he emerges onto puts him square in the path of the mutant. “ _ Stop! _ ” he orders, snarls through bared fangs, letting the beginning of the beta shift ripple over himself.

The mutant doesn’t hesitate, launching itself at him with its own fangs bared. This close, Hank can see the lines of black tracing across his face, and he barely has time to wonder what’s under the bulky coat before the mutant is on him. He can hear footsteps coming through the wheat field the mutant had come from, knows he needs to end this quickly - and when the mutant tries to throw him off the roof, Hank digs his claws into its arms and drags it with him. 

He catches himself with one hand, claws scraping painfully against the concrete, the mutant slipping from his grasp to fall through the air; when Hank glances down, he can’t suppress a wince at the sight of the broken body, one of the security spikes impaling it through the chest from behind.

“Hank!”

Hank looks up, barely remembering to pull in the eyes and teeth before he meets Connor’s panicked gaze. “I’m fine,” he says. “Arm’s getting a bit sore, though.”

“Right, yeah, here!” Connor extends a hand, and Hank takes it, the two of them working together to pull Hank over the edge. Connor looks over, whistling lowly when he catches sight of the body below. “Damn it.”

“Yeah,” Hank sighs, shifting to try to hide the claw marks in the cement from Connor’s view. “He tried to throw me off, didn’t let go when I went over. Couldn’t hold on.”

Connor glances up at him, expression shrewd, and it’s only years of experience that keeps Hank from shifting on his feet like a guilty toddler under his gaze. “Yeah, I think you were right about the addict part,” he says slowly. “The guy was… almost supernaturally fast.”

_ There’s no ‘almost’ about it, _ Hank thinks, a bit wildly - but all he does is shrug. “You spend enough time on the force, you learn to read the room,” is all he says before reaching out to clap a hand to Connor’s shoulder, a gesture of gratitude and a distraction from the marked ledge in one. “Thanks, by the way. For keeping me from ending up like him.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth twitches into a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Hank’s so relieved that Connor goes easily when he pulls him toward the stairwell that he doesn’t notice Connor’s gaze shifting over Hank’s shoulder, to the very distinctive lines on the ledge behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some world-building here! Now you get to see just how much I’ve mashed Twilight/Teen Wolf/DBH together XD

There are three more bodies reported over the next two weeks. Nines and Gavin investigate one of them, Hank and Connor the other, and then all four of them are called to the last. The victim is Todd Williams, and the most disconcerting thing about this murder is that his body was found in the ashes of a burned-down manor - but his body is only slightly singed.

Oh, and torn into several pieces, and all evidence points to it being completely bloodless _before_ being torn apart.

“What the _fuck_?” is Gavin’s eloquent reaction when they find out that last part. Connor wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way, but he appreciates the sentiment.

“That’s not all,” Hank says, grim. “There’s more bodies in the basement. They’re all in just as bad a shape - more decayed, more burned, but they’re still just as bad. And just as bloodless.” He sighs heavily, and Connor resists the urge to put a hand on his shoulder.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Nines says, frowning thoughtfully as he eyes the smoldering shell of the house in front of them. “These bodies have all been missing vast quantities of blood, but we never find any of it anywhere else. We also don’t find any evidence that the bodies have been moved.”

Hank’s face twitches briefly, so quick that Connor would almost think he imagined it. “Yeah, it’s a conundrum,” he agrees with a grunt. “But we’re not going to find anything here; the whole damn building is compromised by the fire, we’ll have to let the experts do the combing for us.”

Nines doesn’t look pleased and Gavin outright groans, but Connor just raises an eyebrow. “So, we’ll be doing the other legwork, I assume?” he asks dryly.

Hank grins. “Legwork,” he agrees, as Nines joins Gavin in groaning.

* * *

“Stern!”

Connor and Nines look up at the same time, and Fowler points at Connor. “Older, shorter Stern. In my office, now.”

Sharing a confused glance with his brother, Connor does as bid, closing the glass door gently behind himself before he takes a seat. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

“Yep. We’ve got another body for you and Hank to take a look at. I know today’s his day off, but I want Hank’s expertise on this particular body and location.”

Connor frowns thoughtfully. “Where is it?”

Fowler sighs. “Eden Club. Hank has… history with the manager, let’s put it that way. He’ll talk to Hank easier than he’ll talk to anyone else.”

His expression is closed-off enough that Connor knows he’s not going to get anything more. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll go find Hank. Can you give me his address?”

* * *

Hank’s house is tiny, tucked away in the suburbs. When Connor steps out of the taxi, the first thing he notices is the sloppy, crooked parking job Hank performed with his own car. He checks the car first, frowning when he notices that it’s empty. He checks the bedroom window, noting the light in the hallway before climbing onto the porch, ringing the doorbell. He waits a moment, then knocks, hard. “Lieutenant?”

When that doesn’t get an answer, he holds down the doorbell for a solid fifteen seconds before letting up, his frown deepening. Stepping off of the porch, Connor carefully walks through the grass to the living room window, peering in.

He sees a dog who can only be Sumo laying in the living room, gaze focused on something in the kitchen. From this angle, the couch blocks Connor’s view of the kitchen floor, but the table itself looks extremely messy. Moving carefully, Connor circles the house, trying to find another window. He looks in the back living room window first before he turns his attention to the kitchen window, swearing under his breath when he catches sight of Hank sprawled on the linoleum.

“ _Lieutenant!_ ” he calls, testing the window. _Locked, damn it._ Well, Connor wasn’t looking to start his shift off with property damage, but needs must. Bracing himself, Connor uses his elbow to break the bottom pane. He backs up a couple of steps to gain momentum, and then vaults through.

His foot catches on the sill, and Connor slams onto the ground, almost knocking the breath from himself. Sumo is on him immediately, growling with raised hackles. “Easy, Sumo!” Connor says, raising a hand and freezing.

He’s not freezing entirely because of the Saint Bernard in front of him. To his right, there’s a sudden commotion, and when he looks, instead of a comatose Hank, there’s a goddamn _wolf_ on the kitchen floor, thrashing around until it’s managed to haul itself to its feet.

“What the _fuck_ \- “

Then the wolf stumbles into the table leg, almost like it’s _drunk,_ and every last puzzle piece from the past few weeks slots into place.

“ _Holy shit,_ ” Connor breathes, glancing at Sumo who gives him a doggy grin and wanders off to his dishes in a corner of the kitchen. “Right, okay,” he mutters, pushing himself to his feet and carefully approaching the still-stumbling wolf.

The still-stumbling wolf that’s taller than the goddamn table and looks like it’s made of nothing but muscle. When Connor gets closer, it snarls at him, teeth snapping, and Connor freezes. “It’s alright, Lieutenant,” he says, as soothingly as he can. “It’s me, Connor. Captain Fowler sent me.”

Hank growls again, but there’s no gnashing of teeth, so Connor counts that as progress. “You’re alright, Hank, just… drunk.” Very, very drunk. Which is apparently something that werewolves can do, drunk-shifting. Huh.

“C’mon, Hank,” Connor says, cajoling as he takes another step closer. “Let’s… get you to bed? If you were human I’d throw you in the shower, but I don’t want to risk a bite from you, honestly, and I think you might bite if I toss you into a cold shower. Probably wouldn’t mean to, but you’re probably faster than me, huh? Bet that’s how you caught up to that guy from the apartment with the pigeons.”

The more he chatters, the lower Hank’s hackles go, until he’s swaying on all four feet, looking at Connor with confusion in his eyes. For a moment, Connor thinks he’s getting through - and then Hank _pukes_ on the floor, and then collapses.

Luckily, he doesn’t fall into the puddle of his own vomit, but Connor still gags. He seriously debates leaving Hank there, but then groans to himself, crossing the kitchen. It takes a bit of experimentation before he can get a good grip on Hank, secure enough to lift him. It’s not far, and Connor staggers under the weight, but he manages to haul Hank’s furry ass down the hall and into the bedroom, depositing him on the bed. A look into the garage finds a bucket he places next to the bed, just in case Hank needs to puke again when he wakes up.

Connor tidies the kitchen, finding another bucket and a mop to take care of the puke and spilled whiskey - whiskey that smells of something sharper. When the kitchen has been put back to semi-rights, gun with only one bullet put away, photo and frame placed back on the kitchen table, he settles himself at Hank’s terminal and starts researching.

After he sends a message to Captain Fowler explaining _some_ of what happened.

* * *

Hank wakes to the smell of freshly-cooked sausage coming from the kitchen. He’s disoriented, blinking, and it takes him a few moments to realize that everything is in black and white not because it’s dark, but because he’s still shifted.

He shifts back in a panic, the abrupt change in perspective and body systems sending a shock through his human ones, and he leans over the side of the bed, already resigned to cleaning the carpet _again_ \- and spots the bucket just in time to grab it and be sick into it instead of all over the carpet he’s had to clean too many times already.

The smell of sausage is still strong when he’s done, and Hank frowns to himself, trying to remember what the _fuck_ happened last night. He remembers spiking his whiskey from the stash he kept in the cabinet above the fridge. He remembers pulling out Cole’s photo, remembers the gun, remembers swallow after swallow of whiskey between click after click of empty chambers.

His frown deepens as he recalls something startling him - Sumo. Sumo had started barking, growling at… Something. Some _one._

Connor.

Hank swears under his breath, flopping back onto the bed. Connor had shown up last night, he vaguely remembers the sound of breaking glass and Connor’s voice.

Then he remembers that he woke up _as a wolf_ this morning, and groans, loudly. Hopefully he got into bed before shifting.

“I can hear you groaning in there, Hank,” Connor’s voice drifts down the hallway. “Go get a shower. When you come out, breakfast will be ready.”

Hank shoves down the plaintive whine of his wolf, the instinct that points out that Connor’s in his house, Connor likely _took care of him_ last night, and that he’s now fixing Hank a meal, urging Hank to take care of himself now. He makes himself get out of the bed, stumbling across the hall and into the bathroom to follow Connor’s suggestion. The hot water does wonders at soothing away the physical aches, but he’s still not looking forward to whatever conversation Connor’s waiting to have when he comes out of the bathroom.

But, Hank can’t stay in the bathroom forever, much as he might like to, so eventually he leaves the safety of the shower, ducking back into his bedroom to grab some clothes. Dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, Hank finally ventures into the living room and kitchen.

Sumo boofs at him, and Hank leans over carefully to give him a good scratch before he lets himself sink into one of the chairs at his table.

Connor slides a plate in front of him, and Hank squints, looking up at him. Connor looks rumpled, like he didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night, but when he catches Hank looking at him, he smiles apologetically. “Sorry about the window, Lieutenant.”

Glancing over, Hank swears when he sees the cut up garbage bag taped over the hole in his window. “Why the hell are you here, anyway?” he asks after a moment.

“There was another suspicious body reported at Eden Club last night,” Connor says. “Captain Fowler said he wanted you and I to go, because you had history with the manager? But he sent Reed and Nines when I told him you were… indisposed.”

Hank doesn’t say anything until Connor’s returned with his own plate of eggs and sausage, and then he sighs. “So. What did you see last night?” he asks, hoping against hope that all Connor had done was get his drunken ass into his bed, and that he’d shifted in his sleep.

Connor pokes at his plate, gives Hank’s a meaningful look, and doesn’t say anything until Hank’s started eating. “I saw you passed out on the kitchen floor,” he says. “And when Sumo started barking at me, I got him calmed down - and when I looked back at you, there was a fucking _enormous_ wolf stumbling around drunk in your kitchen.”

Hank’s shoulders hunch, and he glares at his plate. “You shouldn’t have seen that,” he mutters.

“Well, it was surprising,” Connor agrees easily, nudging Hank’s foot with his own when Hank stops eating. “But it also explained quite a few things.”

Hank looks up so quickly his neck cracks. “Things like what?” he asks sharply.

“Things like the huge _claw marks_ on that ledge I pulled you off of,” Connor says, raising an eyebrow. “Things like bodies missing a lot of blood, none of it ever found. If werewolves are real, why not vampires?”

Hank feels his expression twist before he sighs, forcing himself to relax. “There’s a lot of things that go bump in the night,” he allows. “Werewolves are one of them. Vampires are another. But what we’ve been seeing, those mutilated bodies… They’re _wrong,_ most of them. New-turned leeches, but whoever created them did something during the changing to mutate them.”

“‘Leeches’?” Connor asks, eyebrow hiking higher. “That didn’t sound very flattering.”

Hank winces. “That’s because it’s not. There’s a long, bloody history between wolves and vampires, but there hasn’t been a lot of fighting in the past couple of decades. Lots of name-calling, though.”

Connor snorts. “Of course.” The two of them lapse into silence for a few minutes, each focusing on their food. Connor eventually breaks it, however. “So, I did some research last night, after I got you into bed. There was a lot of conflicting information, though.”

Hank sighs. “Yeah, that’s mostly on purpose,” he informs Connor. “Keeps all of us safer if the vast majority of the population doesn’t know we exist, or what our weaknesses are.” When Connor continues looking at him expectantly, Hank sighs again, adding in an eyeroll that loses something for the slight smile he can feel playing about his mouth. “Alright, shoot. I know you’ve got questions.”

“Do werewolves have packs?”

“Most do,” Hank says, suppressing a wince because of _course_ Connor would get right to the hart of one of the more difficult issues. “I don’t, not anymore.”

Connor hesitates before asking his next question. “You had red eyes, when you were a wolf,” he starts with. “I found some sources that said different… ranks had different colored eyes.”

“That’s… sort of true,” Hank says slowly, still picking at his food. “Red eyes always means alpha, and blue or yellow means beta - regular werewolf. There are omegas, wolves without packs, and it’s possible to be an alpha and omega, or a beta and omega, at the same time. No way of telling unless you’re another wolf, though, who’s who.”

“So you’re an alpha, but also an omega?” Connor asks in clarification. When Hank nods, he asks, “How do you become an alpha?”

Hank snorts. “In my case? You just… do. It’s called being a True Alpha, supposed to happen if you’re ‘worthy’ enough or some shit. I became an alpha when I was twenty-three. Most others become alphas through inheritance from the previous alpha, or by killing them.”

Connor winces. “So the rank is usually passed through blood?”

“Usually,” Hank confirms. “Being alpha is… a lot of pressure, especially with a pack. But you get power, too, being the alpha. Full shift, for one thing.”

“That’s what you did last night?”

“Yep. I can do it at will, you just… Well, you fucking broke into my house, and I was drunk, so it was more instinct than anything else.” Hank smirks when Connor flushes, laughing when Connor kicks him in the shin. “We also heal fast; the stronger the bond between members, the faster and stronger each member is, too.”

“What about downsides?” Connor asks, clearly curious.

“Mountain ash for wolves, mistletoe for vampires,” Hank says easily. “Certain kinds of mountain ash just… drug us. It’s what I use for getting drunk.”

“And other kinds?”

“Mix them with gunpowder or soak a regular bullet in a decoction of it, and it can make us sick, maybe even kill us depending on where you hit us,” Hank says grimly.

Connor’s quiet, taking that in, and then he glances up again, expression determined. “What about vampires? How do you kill them?”

“ _You_ can’t,” Hank says. “Other than lighting their ass on fire, or blowing them up. Their skin’s… _weird_. It’s not exactly like rock, but you still need something super-strong to pierce it. Their hearts don’t beat except for right after they feed, so that’s the only time you could even try to kill one by shooting it in the heart.”

“So… fire?”

“Fire or super strength,” Hank says. “Wolves usually fight them by tearing them apart and then burning the pieces. Humans, that’s not really an option for you guys.”

Connor nods slowly. “You mentioned something about these bodies we’ve been finding being odd?”

“Yeah,” Hank says, fork scraping against his plate as he clears it. “They’re all new vamps, but they _reek_ of mistletoe. Mistletoe is a vampire’s wolfsbane, and they’re… volatile during the first twenty-four hours, while the change settles into their bodies. If you were sadistic enough…”

Connor grimaces. “And how sadistic could you be, if you had decades or centuries to lose touch with your humanity?”


	5. Chapter 5

Knowing that the supernatural exists makes Connor's world both simpler and more complicated. On the one hand, now he doesn't have to immediately dismiss any seemingly outlandish theories about any of the crime scenes they investigate. On the other hand, now there are _so damn many_ possibilities.

The other difficulty, or at least what Connor _thinks_ will be a difficulty, is finding a way to explain the truly supernatural deaths. That turns out to be not his problem once Hank explains that both Reed and Fowler are in the know about the supernatural, though he admits that there’s something weird about Reed that makes him think he _is_ supernatural. Connor’s a bit uncomfortable with that thought, since Reed is his brother’s partner, but it’s not his place to give away Reed’s possible secret, or Hank’s.

Still, knowing that Fowler knows about the supernatural - and now knows that _Connor_ knows about the supernatural - ultimately makes things… pretty much normal, ironically enough. Nothing really changes, except now Hank doesn’t bother trying to find excuses for the occasional odd behavior at a crime scene, instead giving Connor a significant look whenever it comes up. He usually explains himself afterwards, when he and Connor are alone, and Connor soaks up each little piece of information eagerly.

He and Hank start spending more time together outside of the precinct and crime scenes as well. They go out for drinks occasionally, but more often than not they end up grabbing a takeaway dinner and eating at Hank’s place, spending hours talking and watching television, both of them sneaking Sumo snacks when they think the other isn’t looking - or listening. Connor takes the opportunity to make Hank sit down and watch every single supernatural-related television show and movie he can think of, just to listen to Hank rant and bitch about the inaccuracies.

It’s partly to gather more information about this fascinating new world he’s now aware of, and partly an excuse to simply spend more time with Hank. Nines teases him about it, about the amount of time he and Hank spend together off the clock, and Connor’s not ashamed to admit that he’s always had a _type_ and that Hank ticks every single box.

It’s not the wisest move, developing a crush on your partner, but even Connor’s allowed _some_ stupid decisions.

* * *

Their big break comes in the form of CCTV footage from a shop near Eden Club. Fowler calls the two of them into his office to show it to them, and even Hank’s arm pressed against his can’t distract Connor from the fact that the person on camera - the person who matches the description of the last person seen with the victim from Eden Club - is most likely a supernatural being of some kind.

The glowing eyes are kind of a dead giveaway.

“The body at Eden Club wasn’t mutilated, correct?” Connor says; it’s more a way to think out loud than an actual question, but Fowler answers anyway.

“Yes. Nearly completely drained, officially recorded as heart failure due to overexertion.”

From the corner of his eye, Connor watches Hank’s expression turn contemplative. “What’re you thinking, Connor?”

“What if this person - “ He gestures to the screen, paused on the young girl’s face, eyes glowing gold in the footage “ - is a new turn? Someone untrained, maybe turned accidentally and left behind. The victim doesn’t track with the others we’ve been working on, neither does she. What if this was an accident?”

“It’s possible,” Hank says slowly. “Can we track her through more footage?”

“That’s where I’m sending you now,” Fowler informs them. “See if you can follow her path, do whatever you can reasonably do to get more information.”

“We’ll do our best, Captain,” Connor says; Hank nods beside him, and then Fowler dismisses the two of them. They waste no time heading for Hank’s car, heading directly for the address that the footage came from.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Hank says after several minutes of driving. “That girl looked rough, like she had no idea what had just happened to her.”

“She did,” Connor says thoughtfully. Silence falls between them once more, and then Connor asks, careful, “You said you had a pack once. Does that mean you were… in charge of the wolves of Detroit?”

Hank sighs, heavy. “Some of them. Most wolves don’t like living in the city; too cramped, too loud, too many eyes on you. I was the alpha of the only pack in Detroit, though. What’re you getting at?”

“Did you have a… a treaty, or a truce maybe, with the vampires? Do vampires have packs?”

“Covens. And, yeah, we did.” Hank’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, and Connor lets him think. “There was one, a small coven on the outskirts of the city. Elijah Kamski and his family; they hunted animals, not humans, though. Part of the reason they lived so out of the way. And there was an… unofficial coven in Ferndale. They didn’t ever formalize themselves, but most of the vampires ended up in that area. Part of why it got such a reputation for violence, the infighting. They kept it manageable and in-house, so to speak, so Kamski and I never had to intervene.”

“Do you think they could have gotten out of control?”

“Possible, but… By and large, those vampires just wanted to live in peace,” Hank says, glancing at Connor. “They never killed anyone that wasn’t another vampire who was threatening their secrecy. But I’ve been… distracted the last few years, things might have changed.”

“Might be worth checking out, then,” Connor surmises. “Let’s see what we can find from the footage, and maybe from Kamski? Sounds like he might have an ear to the ground when it comes to the other vampires.”

* * *

They manage to track the girl through CCTV and street camera footage all the way to Ferndale, but then she just… disappears. Hank’s really not liking how this is starting to shape up, but he can’t just discount the possibility that the group in Ferndale has come under new, more aggressive management. _He_ hasn’t heard anything of the sort, but as he’d told Connor, he hadn’t exactly been keeping up with the supernatural news the past few years.

So, the two of them end up on Kamski’s front step, hunched against the chill November winds as they wait for someone to answer the damn doorbell. Hank’s grumbling, and he can just see Connor’s amused expression from the corner of his eye, but like hell is he going to say anything and make Connor give him that big goofy (endearing) smile of his.

Chloe answers the door, and Hank gives her a smile. “Chloe,” he greets, turning up the charm. “I know you guys don’t exactly feel the cold, but we do, so could we come in while we wait for Elijah to get off his ass and come talk to us?”

He neatly dodges the elbow Connor aims his way, grin widening when Chloe laughs, a light, airy sound that makes Connor freeze, eyes widening. Hank has to give him a shove through the door once Chloe opens it the rest of the way, telling them that she’ll go inform Elijah that they’re here.

“You okay?” Hank asks once they’re alone, voice pitched low. “Sorry, should have warned you that vampires are… intense.”

Connor shakes his head as if ridding it of cobwebs. “Well, they’re meant to be human predators, right?” he reasons, giving Hank a weak smile. “Not surprising that they’d have such an effect on me.”

Hank casts a critical eye over him, something fierce and protective rising in his chest. He throttles it back before he starts rumbling, sating it instead with a casual-yet-not arm thrown around Connor’s shoulders. “Stick close to me,” he advises, smirking. “I’ll make sure they don’t talk you into anything too stupid.”

Connor makes a face at him, but he doesn’t move out from under Hank’s arm, and Hank tries very, _very_ hard not read too much into that. Thankfully, they’re both distracted quickly by Chloe returning, ushering them into the next room from the foyer, which turns out to have a goddamn pool in the middle of it, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the nearby lake with plush, opulent seating arranged in front of them on the other side of the pool.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Elijah calls from the pool, doing lazy laps. Hank rolls his eyes and steers Connor around the pool, over to the sitting area, though neither of them sit as Elijah finishes his lap and pulls himself out, taking the offered robe from Chloe’s hands. “Apologies, I was in the middle of my daily workout,” he says. “Amanda is out of town at the moment, but Chloe said you came to speak with me?”

“We did,” Hank confirms, only realizing he’s still got an arm around Connor when Kamski’s gaze flickers to it. He shifts on his feet, withdraws his arm as casually as he can - but Kamski still looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you still keeping tabs on the Ferndale group?”

“I am,” Kamski says slowly, his gaze now fixated on Connor as he steps forward. Hank all but feels Connor straighten, suddenly tense beside him, and he has to fight the urge to put himself between Kamski and his partner. “Has there been… trouble lately?”

“I’m sure you know there has been,” Hank says dryly. “I don’t exactly come around for social calls.”

“No, you don’t,” Kamski hums, close enough now that he can circle Connor. “Usually you want something from me. But everything comes at a price, Alpha Anderson. You know that.”

“I do,” Hank says, fighting to keep his voice even as Kamski continues _prowling_ around Connor. Kamski’s always had a type, and somehow Hank had managed to forget that Connor fits that type to a T - pretty, young, clever and quick. “What are you asking for this time, Kamski?”

“Well, that depends on what _you_ want from _me,_ ” Elijah hums, coming around in front of Hank, meeting his gaze and ignoring Connor for the moment. “Information? Action?”

“Just information,” Hank says. “We need to know if that group in Ferndale has gotten more organized, or if there’s a splinter group, or both. Any updates from the past few years.”

“Well, that’s a tall order,” Elijah laughs. “I’d say an order like that deserves a _favor_ , don’t you?”

“Actually,” Hank says, grinning suddenly. “Now that you mention it, I think I recall _you_ owing me more than a few favors. You tell me everything you know about Ferndale and the supernatural there, and I’ll consider us even.”

Elijah’s expression twitches, briefly frustrated - but then it smooths out, and he gives Hank a slight smile. “Well-played,” he sighs. “Very well, I’ll tell you what I know.”

What he knows turns out to be a goddamned _treasure mine_ of information, and both Hank and Connor take down notes as he speaks. About a year ago, there were a few minor uprisings, some power plays, and in the end, there were two groups - one based out of Jericho, an abandoned freighter, and another based out of Ferndale as well, led by an elder Russian vampire named Zlatko. “He’s… Well, he’s a sadistic bastard,” Kamski finishes bluntly. “I’ve heard nothing good about the man, and I suspect he’s behind the recent bodies you have been investigating.”

“You have no idea where he might be based out of Ferndale?” Connor asks, frowning thoughtfully.

“Unfortunately not. The few times I’ve sent drones to look, they didn’t come back. I didn’t want to risk more of my people than necessary.”

Hank nods in understanding. “Of course. Thank you for the information; you’ve given us a lot to work with.”

“Anything to repay a debt,” Kamski says, almost purrs. He moves again, comes close enough to Connor to reach out and press two fingers against his neck, laying against his pulse. “Of course, I can also offer you a gift.”

Hank tenses beside Connor, eyes flickering between the two as Connor asks, “A gift?”

“Of immortality. Invulnerability,” Kamski murmurs, a smile playing about his lips. “I could make you a vampire.” His gaze flickers to Hank, the smile turning into a _smirk._ “Think how much easier would it be to keep up with your partner,” he murmurs, and Hank isn’t sure which one of them he’s trying to tempt. “Being supernatural in the police force has… _quite_ a number of perks.”

Connor steps back, and Hank lets out the breath he wasn’t even aware that he’d been holding. “I appreciate the offer,” Connor says, voice firm despite the stress that Hank can smell coming off of him in waves, the uptick in his heartbeat. “But I’m not looking for a drastic lifestyle change right now.”

Kamski laughs, taking a step back himself. “You may not be, but sometimes you don’t get a choice,” he warns Connor. “You should be careful, especially if you go with Anderson to investigate Zlatko.”

“Thank you for the warning.” Connor inclines his head toward Kamski before turning towards Hank, asking, “Is there anything else we need here?”

“No, I believe that’s it,” Hank says, tucking his notebook away into his jacket. “Thanks again, Kamski.”

“Of course,” is the polite murmur. “Chloe will show you out. I hope you’re able to resolve this quickly.”

Hank and Connor are quiet as they leave, neither of them saying anything until they’re standing by the car, and then Connor lets out a shaky breath, bracing himself against the hood, and Hank, alarmed, lays a hand on his shoulder. “Connor, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, just… Give me a moment,” he sighs. “You weren’t kidding about them being intense, I - Jesus, when he touched me, I _wanted_ to let him bite me.”

“He shouldn’t have done that,” Hank mutters angrily, scowling as he glances over his shoulder towards the house. “I shouldn’t have let him do that.”

He jumps when he feels Connor’s hand cover his; when he looks back, Connor gives him a small smile and squeezes his hand. “I’m alright, Hank. Just a bit shaken, that’s all. I appreciate the protectiveness, though.”

Hank feels his ears go hot, and the gravel beneath his feet is suddenly _incredibly_ fascinating. “I - You’re welcome,” he mumbles, glancing up when Connor chuckles. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Connor says, grinning. “Just the big, bad, alpha werewolf getting all bashful because I thanked him for being concerned about me.”

Hank scowls at Connor, ears growing hotter, and he pinches the sensitive skin at the join of Connor’s neck and shoulder just hard enough to get a shocked yelp before he steps back, grumbling, “Quit being a shithead and get in the car.”

He nearly shuts his hand in the door when Connor calls out, “Yes, Alpha!”


	6. Chapter 6

Connor learns some creative new phrases when he and Hank tell Fowler what they’ve learned. Once he’s done cursing up a storm, Fowler immediately tells Hank to get Reed and Nines and set out for Ferndale, to find and eliminate Zlatko and his followers. Hank protests at the idea of bringing two humans along, but before Connor can say anything, Fowler shuts him down.

“They’re two of the best damn officers we have, and if you’re so fucking worried, go get backup from the Jericho coven because _they_ should have cleaned this mess up to start with.” Fowler meets Hank’s glare with one of his own, and Hank cracks first, sighing noisily.

“ _Fine,_ ” he snarls. “But you better have an ambulance ready to be dispatched because this is _not_ going to end well for them.”

Fowler gives Connor a look that he can’t interpret before turning back to Hank. “Just do your job, _Alpha_ , and make sure that they don’t need that ambulance.”

Hank’s expression twists into something equal parts heartbroken and vicious, and he storms out of the office without another word. Connor hesitates, wants to ask Fowler what the hell he meant by that, but when Fowler raises an eyebrow, he shuts his mouth and follows Hank.

Hank’s already informed Reed and Nines, apparently, because Nines grabs Connor by the arm on his way past and pulls him into the break room. “What the fuck is going on?” he hisses. “Lieutenant Anderson looked _pissed_ , and even Reed didn’t crack a joke at him storming out of the captain’s office.”

Connor hesitates, debating how much to tell his brother. “We got a lead,” he says after a moment. “It’s put our search in Ferndale, and Hank has some… reservations about the area.”

“ _Hank_?” Nines echoes, raising an eyebrow - then smirking when Connor flushes. “Honestly, Connor, you’re too easy to read.”

Connor can’t stop the flashback to Kamski’s house, to the smirk on his face as he’d looked from Connor to Hank, the way he’d purred the phrase ‘keep up.’ “Maybe I am,” he admits. “But that’s not our problem right now. We’re going to get some help from a local… Well, a local gang that Hank knows. Just - try to keep Reed from shooting off at the mouth, alright?”

Nine’s eyebrow hikes higher. “A gang,” he says, flatter than the floor they’re standing on. “Honestly, Connor - “

“Nines, I can’t tell you anything more than that right now, it’s not my place to tell you,” Connor says, interrupting. “Just, be careful, alright? Keep your wits about you, keep Reed quiet, and we’ll be fine.”

Nines sighs, like he’s doing Connor the world’s biggest favor. “Alright. But don’t think I’m dropping this so easily when we get back.”

Connor laughs, leading his brother out into the hallway once more. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

Every last hair on the back of his neck is standing on edge, and Connor can see that Hank’s just as uneasy. Hank had ordered Reed and Nines to stay with the vehicles while the two of them went to talk to the ‘gang,’ but that only partially soothes the worry nagging at Connor. He’s a human, walking essentially unprotected into a coven’s lair - every last instinct is telling him that he’s as good as committing suicide with each step he and Hank take into the belly of the rusted-out freighter.

Hank’s eyes are red, and Connor can just make out the peaked tips of his ears in the dim light; it’s a small comfort, knowing that he has an alpha werewolf on his side, but Hank’s an omega, he’d told Connor as much. Alphas may be the strongest members of a pack naturally, but he doesn’t have a pack to draw any extra strength from.

When they emerge from a long hallway into what looks like the main cargo hold, the two of them are immediately surrounded by three vampires - two men, one woman. “Anderson,” the blond man says evenly, posture tense. “We haven’t seen you in years.”

“Hasn’t been a reason for me to visit,” Hank shoots back. “Until mutilated leeches and drained bodies started showing up at my crime scenes. Know anything about that?”

“Even if we did, _mutt_ , what makes you think we’d tell you?” The woman’s tone is sharp, her teeth bared as she glares at Hank, and Connor has to resist the urge to put one hand on his gun - Hank had told him it would be all but useless, and the wrong move could push everyone here over the edge.

“Because you’d rather we keep this in-house than letting word get out to some hunters that we aren’t dealing with our own problems,” Hank says, just as sharply - and when Connor glances at him, he’s got his own teeth bared, the shift taking over more of his face than before. “Hunters are nothing but trouble and you know it, North.”

The blond man steps between the two of them, hands raised. “It’s not our place to interrogate him,” he reminds North. “That is Markus’s.”

“Markus has enough on his plate, Simon, and you know it,” North retorts, but she seems to settle a bit, albeit reluctantly.

Simon gives her a tight smile before turning his attention to the last vampire. “Josh, would you mind fetching Markus? No need in stirring up the rest of the coven’s curiosity about our guests any further.” Josh inclines his head, disappearing in the blink of an eye, and returns almost as quickly with another man who places one hand each on Simon and North’s shoulders as he passes between them, coming to a standstill in front of Hank.

“Alpha Anderson,” he says, inclining his head; his voice is quiet, calm. His posture gives nothing away as he and Hank study each other.

“You must be Markus; Kamski told me that Jericho finally turned itself into a real coven.”

The corner of Markus’s mouth twitches. “We did. And there were some who left because of that decision. I hear that one of those has been making trouble for you?”

“Elder Zlatko,” Hank says. “Kamski pointed us in this direction, said he had a sadistic streak, liked experimenting. We’ve had some oddballs show up at crime scenes lately.”

“Likely victims of his,” Markus says on a sigh. “You’re here to ask for our help in solving the matter, I assume?”

“I am. Like I told your triumvirate, it looks better if we handle these problems ourselves instead of passing them on to hunters.”

Markus and Hank fall silent then, each staring at the other unblinking, and Connor fights the urge to step closer to Hank, put himself more squarely on Hank’s right side, show his support - he’s human, he reminds himself; it’s not his place.

“We will join you,” Markus says after a moment, glancing back at North and Simon. “Round up a few willing volunteers; the quicker we can comb Ferndale, the sooner we can find and stop Zlatko.”

North and Simon straighten at the direct order, giving Markus a nod before they take off. Markus gestures beyond Hank and Connor, back the way they’d come. “Josh, stay here with the rest of the coven; I’ll go with the alpha and his partner.”

“Yes, Markus,” Josh murmurs, inclining his own head before stepping back as Markus steps forward. “Be careful.”

Markus smiles. “I’m always careful.”

It doesn’t take long to wind their way back out of the belly of Jericho and back to the vehicles; Simon and North meet them outside with several other vampires, and the group heads for the vehicles. “Connor, Reed, Nines, and I will be in the vehicles doing sweeps,” Hank says. “We’ll stick to the main roads, stay on the radio. If you could sweep the alleys and buildings, clear them as we go, that would be helpful.”

Markus nods, his expression going distant as Hank’s goes pinched. “I’ll use that to get in touch with you, should any of us find anything,” he says, and Hank shakes his head.

“Fucking telepathic - alright, fine,” Hank sighs. “Let’s move out, then.”

Nines’s eyebrows are trying to become one with his hairline when Connor and Hank walk back to the cars, the Jericho group dispersing behind them. Connor really doesn’t want to deal with that look at the moment, so while Hank catches the two of them up, he slips into the car, fiddling with the radio volume to turn it down enough that it won’t be distracting. When Hank finally slides in, Connor looks at him expectantly. “Telepathy?”

Hank groans as he starts the car. “Some vampires get… gifts, of sorts. Telepathy is one of the more common ones, but I’ve heard of vampires able to move objects with their minds or even see the immediate future. Telepaths are really fucking annoying, though.”

“I imagine it could be helpful,” Connor ventures. “Staying in touch without making a sound, being aware of where someone else is.”

“Helpful for them, sure,” Hank snorts. “Not so helpful for people outside of the coven they form one of those links with, even a temporary one like Markus just did. Feels like I’ve got a radio playing in the back of my head that sounds like a damn preacher.”

Connor can’t help but laugh. “Sounds interesting,” he chuckles, turning his gaze out the window. “At least we’ll know as soon as they find something.”

“Yeah, we - Shit, that was fast.”

Connor’s gaze snaps back to Hank. “Already?”

“Bastard was using a bunch of different plants for cover, but someone caught the scent of mistletoe, followed it,” Hank says absently, already reaching for the radio. “Let’s get going. You stay behind me, alright?”

Connor nods, stomach churning as Hank flips on the lights and siren.

* * *

By the time Hank and Connor arrive, there’s a fight going on in the empty parking lot in front of the abandoned warehouse. Vampires are fighting mutants, and Connor can’t help but feel sorry for the mutants; some of them don’t even look _human_ anymore. Reed and Nines arrive at the same time, Nines’s mouth already open to ask what the fuck is going on, but Hank cuts them off with a sharp, barked order. “You two, with us,” he says, tone brooking no argument. “We’re looking for any hostages or other victims.”

Reed and Nines fall into step behind Hank and Connor, who skirt the fighting quickly. Once inside, Hank swears under his breath. “Connor, you’re with me, Nines, stay with Reed. We’ll take the basement, you two check the upper levels. Reed, you grabbed the ammo I told you to?”

“Number Eight, yeah,” Reed grunts, gaze already focused on the upper levels. “We’re on it, Lieutenant.” For once, there’s not a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but Connor doesn’t have time to wonder about it before Hank’s leading him away, towards a stairwell nearby.

“Number Eight ammo?” Connor asks, barely more than a murmur as they descend the stairs.

“Specialty all-purpose supernatural ammo,” Hank says over his shoulder. “Probably won’t kill anything you find down here, but it’ll slow ‘em down, give me time to get over to you and finish them off.”

“Alright,” Connor says, blowing out a breath before refocusing on his feet, making sure he doesn’t slip - that’s the last thing he needs, a stupid mistake like that. “Shit, this basement is huge.”

“Yeah,” Hank says grimly. “I think we’ll need to split up, damn it. Otherwise we’re never going to cover this entire place and be sure we didn’t miss anything.”

“I’ll take left, you take right?”

Hank sighs. “Might as well. Keep your radio channel open, and your eyes peeled. Don’t worry about wasting ammo on shadows, better safe than sorry.”

Connor nods, sharing a look with Hank before they turn at the same time and start their sweeps. The area Connor covers is nothing but cages, every door open - whatever was in them is gone now, probably fighting in the parking lot above them. It’s not until he reaches the back corner that he spots anything different - a closed cage, and inside, three people.

Connor approaches carefully, gun drawn but aimed to the side; as he gets closer, the three look up in unison, and he has to bite back a swear. There’s a large man, a young woman, and a _child_ in that cage - and all of their eyes are the same dull red as the Jericho coven’s.

“Who are you?” the man asks sharply, standing and moving closer to the door. “You don’t - “

“I’m human,” Connor says, taking a chance. “Detective Connor Stern, DPD. Do you know a man named Zlatko?”

“He captured us,” the woman says, standing and moving closer to the door, though she stays behind the man and in front of the child. “You’re with the DPD?”

“I am. And with Alpha Anderson.” There’s no spark of recognition, so Connor assumes they’re new to the supernatural world. “Do you know where he kept the key to this door?”

“Over there,” the woman says, pointing. “My name is Kara, by the way.” She puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, one on the girl’s. “This is Luther, and Alice.”

Connor offers them a reassuring smile. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances. I'll be right back with the keys.” He moves in the direction Kara had pointed, gaze sweeping the shadows around him. He finds the keys easily; with them in hand, he turns to make his way back to Kara, Luther, and Alice’s cage, only to catch a brief flash of red lunging at him. He brings his gun up, squeezes off a shot that goes wide, and then -

He _screams_ as far-too-sharp teeth sink into his shoulder.

* * *

Connor’s scream echoes through the basement, and Hank doesn’t think before shifting and bolting for the sound, bouncing off of a cage when he can’t quite make the turn. It only takes a few seconds - long enough for a second gunshot to split the air - to reach the corner of the basement where Connor had been looking, and when he spots the leech crouched over Connor’s form, teeth going for his neck, Hank roars and lets the full shift take him.

He’s on the leech before it gets a chance to look up, teeth and claws rending it to pieces, tossing them far apart before Hank staggers back to two feet, falling to his knees beside Connor. “Connor - _Connor!_ You’re alright, I’ve got you,” Hank says, carefully gathering his partner into his arms. “You’re alright, I’m here.”

Connor’s too busy swearing to answer for a moment; when he finally looks up at Hank, he presses a key ring into his hand. “Let them out,” he says, voice strong except for the slight waver at the end. “Kara, Luther, and Alice - let them out, Zlatko captured them.”

“Alright, I will,” Hank soothes, shifting until he’s crouched beside Connor. “Can you stand? _Fuck,_ that bastard took a chunk out of your shoulder.”

“I’ll be fine,” Connor says, letting Hank help him to his feet. “It - _fuck_ , it hurts, burns, but I'll be fine. We gotta let them out, find Zlatko.”

Connor’s scent is acrid with pain, the stark difference from his normal, soothing scent driving Hank’s wolf _crazy._ He barely gets Connor over to the door before he shifts again, letting the large man - Luther - take Connor’s weight. He shakes his head, vision swimming, and then says, “If anything happens to him, I’ll track you down and tear you apart. Get him the fuck out of here, I’m going to find Zlatko.”

“Hank - “

“ _No,_ Connor,” Hank says, sharp enough that Connor is startled into silence. “Fuck, I…” He digs through his pocket, claws catching on the keyring he tosses to Kara. “Get him out of here, into the car outside. Stay there with him, any of Zlatko’s _things_ come near him, you tear them apart.”

Kara nods, eyes wide as she stares at Hank, who lets himself drop to all fours before _howling_ , calling any and everyone who can hear it to join in his hunt.

The wolf reigns now, steering him through the basement and up the stairs, hitting the stairs for the upper level at a dead run - and now he catches the scent of another wolf, familiar, and more mistletoe. It’s heavy in the air up here, makes his nose itch, but the wolf powers through it, searching out the almost-pack scent.

He finds it with two men, one with steel grey eyes, the other with eyes that burn blue in his otherwise red vision. A moment’s assessment tells the wolf that the one with blue eyes is a friend, an ally, and the one with grey eyes is family to the one who was just bitten. But there’s no time to deliver that news, not when there’s hunting to be done, so he jerks his head in a clear order, pleased when Blue Eyes falls into place as they stalk across the catwalks, cornering the prey they seek.

Tearing the dusty one limb from limb is _extremely_ satisfying - but the sound of the warehouse catching fire is even more so.

It takes that long for Hank to wrestle control back over himself, and then he leaves Reed to explain to Nines what the fuck just happened in order to bolt across the parking lot - ignoring the Jericho vampires who are moving the dismembered pieces of body scattered across the lot to the inferno - to his car, skidding to a halt beside it when he sees Connor’s unconscious form slumped against the passenger side window.

“What happened?” he snarls, whirling on Kara, who takes a step back, behind Luther.

“He just passed out,” she says, pulling a wide-eyed Alice behind her. “We got him up here, he tried to go back after you, but then he collapsed. I swear, we did nothing to him!”

Hank yanks open the driver’s side door, swearing when he catches Connor’s scent. There’s something foreign overtaking it, and Hank’s got a pretty good idea of what happened. “We need to get him to Kamski,” he mutters, glancing up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Why do you need to - _Is that Connor?_ ” Nines is _furious_ , taking a step forward - only to be stopped by Reed’s arm hitting his chest.

“We’ll follow you, Alpha,” Reed says, voice low, not quite meeting Hank’s eyes - and baring his throat.

Fuck, so Reed must be Blue Eyes, then, Hank thinks, but that’s not his biggest concern. “Alright. Call Fowler, tell him what happened. You three,” he adds, turning to Luther, Kara, and Alice, “find a vampire named Simon here, tell him your story and that you want to go to Jericho. You’ll be safe enough there.” They nod and disappear, and Hank slides into the driver’s side of his car. “We need to hurry.”

Hank doesn’t fight the urge to reach over, take Connor’s limp hand in his. “You’ll be okay,” he says, more to convince himself than anything else. “I’ll make sure of it.”


	7. Chapter 7

Chloe is waiting for them on the front step of Kamski’s mansion when they arrive, tires squealing in protest at the hard stop. Hank carefully gathers a still-unconscious Connor into his arms, carrying him up the ramp to the entryway, following Chloe through the foyer and further into the mansion, to what looks like a guest bedroom. He hears Reed and Nines behind him, Nines vocally protesting his confusion about what’s happening, his disbelief at the explanation that Reed is giving him, but right now Hank’s got bigger concerns.

Kamski is waiting in the guest room, moving closer as soon as Hank settles Connor onto the bed. He presses a hand to Connor’s neck, moves carefully over the bite - shooting Hank a reproachful look when Hank unconsciously growls at him -  and then bends over to listen at Connor’s chest. “He’s changing,” he announces as he straightens, looking at Hank with a raised eyebrow. “What happened?”

“We split up,” Hank growls. “I never should’ve - We went after Zlatko, found him with Jericho’s help. In the basement of the warehouse that creep was using as a fucking _laboratory_ , we split up to cover ground quicker. Connor found some of Zlatko’s victims, vamps he hadn’t gotten around to experimenting on yet. He was trying to get them out when he was attacked. I killed the one who bit him, but…”

Kamski hums, but is prevented from saying anything else by Nines almost literally breaking the door down - it definitely bounces off of the wall after he throws it open. “Will someone _please_ tell me _what the hell is wrong with my brother?_ ” he snarls, expression thunderous as he stalks forward.

Hank glances over his shoulder at Reed, who shrugs at him; rolling his eyes, Hank moves to stand in front of Nines, letting his eyes flash and his fangs drop as he growls, “Connor was injured, but he’ll be fine - but you can’t stay if you’re not going to _be civil._ ”

Nines comes up short, staring at Hank through narrowed eyes. Hank’s used to Connor’s height, used to looking down slightly; Nines is as tall as he is, the two of them eye to eye as they face off. After a moment, Nines huffs, arms crossing over his chest. “What the hell happened? You stormed out of Fowler’s office, told us to go suit up, Connor said you were going to get help from a _gang_ , and then we show up at an abandoned warehouse to watch people literally tearing each other apart, not to mention the fact that _you turned into a wolf._ ”

“Werewolves exist, so do vampires and a lot of other shit, and Connor got bitten,” Hank bites out. “I fucked up, let us split up - that’s on me.”

“So why is he unconscious?”

“He’s changing,” Kamski says, stepping up beside Hank. “The science behind it is… _complicated,_ but I believe he will survive the change.” He eyes Nines speculatively, and Hank doesn’t like that look.

Nines is eyeing Kamski just as thoughtfully, though, and Hank _really_ doesn’t like that. “And you are?”

“Elijah Kamski, head of the Kamski coven,” Kamski says smoothly, flashing Nines a fanged smile. “You certainly seem very… loyal to your brother.”

“I am,” Nines says. “Could you change me?”

“ _Absolutely not!_ ” Hank snarls, whirling on Kamski. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ , he only just found out about us - “

“But he is more than old enough to make his own decisions,” Kamski counters without looking at Hank. “And asking for the change is better than an unsuspecting human getting bitten, don’t you agree?”

“Connor at least knew about the dangers for more than _five goddamn minutes,_ ” Hank growls. “Nines, this isn’t something reversible - “

“Exactly,” he says, voice hard enough to catch Hank’s attention in an entirely new way. “Connor’s never going to be human again - and I’ll be damned if I let my brother go through this alone.”

Kamski steps forward, laying a hand on Nine’s upper arm and turning him. “For the sake of Alpha Anderson’s sense of propriety, let me explain to you the full advantages and disadvantages before you make your final decision,” he says, leading Nines from the room.

Hank growls after them, turning and pacing - he only gets one round in, however, before he notices that Reed is still standing by the doorway. “What the fuck do you want?”

Reed raises an eyebrow. “It’s odd. Seeing you act like an alpha now.”

Hank snorts. “You been paying attention that long?”

“Of course I have,” Reed says easily. “I moved to Detroit to try to join your pack, after all.”

That brings Hank up short. “What?”

“Your pack had a reputation for being a good place to get a new start,” Reed says, shrugging one shoulder. “I needed a new start - but by the time I moved out here, you were spiralling, and your pack was dissolving, finding new ties.”

“But you’re still here.”

“Yeah. Ended up liking being an omega here better than anywhere else,” Reed says, glancing out the window briefly before he looks back at Hank, something flashing behind his eyes. “And maybe I was holding out hope you’d become the alpha you were again. If I’d have thought all it would take is partnering you up with a twink, I’d have suggested it to Fowler sooner.” He laughs when Hank growls at him.

“An alpha and one beta doesn’t make a pack,” Hank mutters, even as he can’t help looking at Connor’s unnaturally-still form.

“No, but an alpha, a beta, and two vampires might.” Hank’s gaze snaps to Reed’s, but he doesn’t say anything else, just nods at Hank before slipping through the door, leaving Hank and Connor alone.

Hank sinks into the chair beside the bed, unable to help himself from taking Connor’s slack hand in his, folding his hands over Connor’s, bending so that he can press their joined hands to his forehead, desperately trying to ignore the echoes of the last time he found himself in this position clamoring through his memories. “ _God,_ ” he sighs, lifting his head until he can press his lips to Connor’s knuckles, breathe a near-silent prayer against too-cold skin, “please be okay. I don’t care if you hate me for letting you get hurt when you wake, just _wake up._ ”

* * *

When Connor starts screaming again, it’s everything that Hank can do to not chase Kamski or Chloe away for good; thankfully, they leave him and Connor alone for the most part, only coming in to check on the two of them occasionally - and to give Hank the news that Nines hadn’t been dissuaded by the talk Kamski and Reed had both given him, and had taken the bite.

Hank’s only briefly distracted by annoyance before he focuses back on Connor, every instinct in him wanting to find out what’s making his - his partner sound so terrified, what’s paining him, and rend it into pieces. The fact that he knows what’s happening, knows he can’t do anything to stave off the pain, can’t even _drain it_ , like he might have been able to do with a broken bone, doesn’t help.

Connor looks _rough,_ there’s no other word for it. He’s being put through the wringer from the inside, and as time goes on, his scent starts shifting into something sharper even as the skin beneath Hank’s hand becomes smooth and hard and yet still, somehow, soft. Velvet-covered granite is the closest comparison Hank can come up with, but even that doesn’t fully cover the contradiction.

Hank stays by Connor’s side through the next forty-eight hours as his the change finishes. Reed runs interference for him, even going so far as to feed and walk Sumo after giving Fowler a summary of what had happened. Fowler texts him, a simple thing telling him to take care of himself and Connor, but Hank doesn’t reply, because it’s about then that Connor’s heart stops.

He knows it’s part of the process, knows that Connor’s heart will never beat again, not truly, without stolen blood to pump through his body. That doesn’t stop the brief panic that threatens to overtake him.

After that, Connor falls silent, deathly-still on the bed except for the fact that he still smells like himself with that sharp new undercurrent, not like death and dust.

Almost seventy-two hours after he was bitten, Connor opens his eyes.

* * *

The first thing he notices is that he’s not in a car, not in Ferndale - he’s on a bed, an extremely comfortable bed, and that there’s someone’s hand covering his. His gaze shifts, and Connor briefly feels dizzy with the sudden change in perspective - everything is in Ultra- _Ultra_ 4K HD, it seems, the stark change almost nauseating.

Beside the bed, Hank sits in a chair, head bowed over Connor’s hand, his fingers twined with Connor’s. Connor blinks at the sight - Hank looks rough, like he hasn’t slept in days, and Connor frowns - then sucks in an involuntary breath at the sudden realization that he can _smell_ Hank. Not just his cologne, but _him_ , something earthy, musky -

Something that makes his throat _itch_.

Connor coughs on the breath, on the rasp in his throat, and then Hank’s head snaps up, eyes wide, and he reaches up, one hand coming up to curl around the back of Connor’s neck. “Connor?”

“Hi, Hank,” he says, a bit weakly. “What - Where are we?”

“Kamski’s place,” Hank answers, gaze searching Connor’s face. “How are you feeling? What do you remember?”

“I feel like I got hit by a train,” Connor says truthfully. “I remember going to Jericho, talking in the car… Markus’s message. We went to a warehouse, you and I went to the basement.” He frowns, gaze dropping from Hank’s as he registers a dull, wet rhythm on the edge of his hearing. It makes it a lot harder to concentrate, but Connor does his best to push past it. “We split up to make sure we covered the whole place, I found Kara, Luther, and Alice - I tried to get the key to let them out, but something jumped me.”

Hank blows out a breath, and when Connor looks up again, his expression is anguished. “It was one of Zlatko’s creatures,” he says, voice quiet. “It bit you, and - “ He swallows, hard, Connor unable to keep himself from tracking the movement of his Adam’s apple in his throat, that rhythm growing stronger in his ears. “You changed.”

“I - Wait, you mean…”

“Yeah,” Hank murmurs, thumb grazing the skin just beneath Connor’s ear, distracting him briefly. “You’re a vampire now, Connor. I’m sorry.”

So that explains some things, at least - most things, actually. “Oh,” Connor says dumbly. “That… I suppose it’s better than being dead?”

The corner of Hank’s mouth twitches. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“No, I am,” Connor decides. “Being a vampire is better than being dead.” He swallows, winces at the ache in his throat, and offers Hank a sheepish smile. “So, this is a bit embarrassing, but… I’m pretty sure I’m thirsty? Hungry? I don’t know what to call it, but my throat hurts, and I think I can hear your heartbeat and it’s _really_ tempting.”

Hank’s eyes go wide, but he doesn’t pull away immediately. Something changes in his scent, something Connor doesn’t have a hope of placing, but then Hank does pull away, and Connor abruptly misses the warm of his hand against his skin. “I’ll go get Chloe; she and Kamski probably have blood of some kind stored here,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. “Don’t try to get up just yet, alright?”

Connor feels one corner of his mouth lift in a half-smile. “I won’t,” he promises, gaze tracking Hank as he slowly steps out of the room. As soon as Hank is gone, Connor immediately pushes himself into an upright position, swinging his legs off the side of the bed - he’s not going to get off of the bed, but he needs to sit up, needs to think.

He lifts a hand, studying it intently. His hand doesn’t look much different; his skin might be a bit smoother, or he could just be projecting. He feels stronger than he ever has, the kind of strength that gives him the complete certainty that if he needed to, he could throw the bed he’s sitting on out the window, and possibly even more.

Curious, Connor presses two fingers to his neck, to the place he’s always felt his pulse - and even though he’s expecting it, it’s disconcerting to feel _nothing_ move beneath his skin. He lifts his hand then, touches his fingers to his lips, then opens his mouth and moves his hand until he can press the tip of his finger against his teeth. His canines and bicuspids definitely feel different against his finger, longer than before, and the incisors are sharper; if his skin wasn’t so hard now, he knows it would be trivial to break it.

Letting his hand fall back to the bed, Connor takes a shaky breath, resisting the urge to chase Hank’s scent into the chair beside the bed. Maybe he’s just imprinted on Hank since he woke up next to him - Connor really doesn’t think that’s the case, but a hysterical part of himself can’t help but wonder - but Hank’s scent is comforting, grounding almost, and that’s going to get really damn embarrassing really damn fast if he doesn’t get it under control.

Connor doesn’t have any more time to panic before he hears footsteps coming down the hall; listening intently, he can pick out more than one set. Hank opens the door, holding it open for Chloe, who’s carrying a tray with several tumblers on it. Connor’s nose twitches at the metallic scent that arrives with her, and he sits up straighter. “Is that - “

“Yes,” Chloe says, giving him a slight smile. “New changes are usually starving, and we have enough to spare.” She sets the tray on the bedside table, picking up one tumbler and handing it to him. “We’ll help teach you how to hunt the way we do, if you like, or Jericho may be able to help if you wish to follow their ways. But for now, this will tide you over.”

Connor takes the tumbler from her, lifting it to his mouth hesitantly. Then, taking an unnecessary deep breath, he drinks. The blood is smooth, rich against his tongue, and Connor downs the entire thing in one go despite the fact that it’s chilled, something that his body tells him is _wrong,_ that it should be hot instead. But the blood soothes the ache in his throat, and Connor waits for a moment before handing the tumbler back to Chloe, taking the second one she offers. He drinks this one slower, sipping a little bit at a time. After a moment, he looks at Hank questioningly. “How long was I out?”

“Three days,” is the answer Hank gives him, settling into his chair once again; something in Connor settles as well at his proximity. “Fowler knows what happened, officially you and I are on mandatory leave after an intense op.”

“What about my brother?”

Hank hesitates, expression clouding. “He - “ He clears his throat, tries again. “He hasn’t woken up yet.”

Alarm surges through Connor. “‘Hasn’t woken up yet’? What are you talking about? Was he hurt?”

“No,” Hank says hastily, his hand landing on Connor’s knee, squeezing. “No, he wasn’t hurt in the fight. But he - he saw me and Reed shift, saw Jericho fighting Zlatko’s monsters, and when we told him what happened to you…”

Connor swears. “That fucker asked to be changed as well, didn’t he,” he says - not asks, because he knows Nines too well. “What the hell was his reasoning?”

Hank sighs. “He said he wasn’t going to let you go through this alone, and when I tried to talk him out of it, he brought up the fact that it’s a lot easier for vampires to keep up with wolves than humans, and he intends to keep working with Reed. Kamski was all too willing to give him the bite.”

Connor makes a face before taking another sip of his blood, draining the last of it and handing the empty tumbler back to Chloe. “Thanks. And yeah, I remember the way he acted around me, bet he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into Nines.”

Chloe laughs quietly, taking the tray and glasses back out of the room, and Hank gives Connor a slight smile. “He should be waking up in a few hours, we think,” he says. Abruptly, Hank seems to realize that  his hand is still on Connor’s knee, because he snatches it back, ears turning red.

When he was human, Connor’s neck would have been burning as well, but now, all he does to show his own embarrassment is glance to the side, unable to look directly at Hank. “Well,” he says after a few moments’ awkward silence, “I guess we’ll have to go talk to Jericho again.”

“Why?” Hank asks, frowning as he looks back at Connor.

“Because going out of the city to eat however often isn’t really going to be a viable option for me,” Connor points out. “But I also don’t want to kill anyone. So I’ll need to learn control somehow.” He offers Hank a wry smile. “Somehow, I think it’s a little different for vampires than werewolves.”

Hank chuckles at that. “Probably,” he relents. “And Nines will need it, too. I’ll get in touch with Markus, see what we can work out.”

And when Hank smiles at him, Connor thinks maybe it’ll all work out in the end.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from vacation!
> 
> Little shorter chapter today, but I wanted to get something out for y’all ^.^
> 
> Things are gonna be moving a bit faster on the Hank/Connor front now though, so buckle up, buttercups!

Connor takes to the vampiric life with almost frightening ease.

(Nines’s own easy transition is frightening in an entirely different manner; the man’s always been intense, but now suspects in the interrogation room are going to be downright _pissing_ themselves in fear as soon as he walks through the door, instead of after he sits down and starts talking.)

Hank takes the two of them to Jericho, watching from the sidelines as Markus and his triumvirate coach the brothers through the basics of being a vampire in a city the size of Detroit. Hank can’t pretend that he’s entirely _happy_ with the fact that two polices officers now have good reason to commit regular assault, but until they can set up a deal with a local blood bank or something, they don’t have a choice. Hank’s certainly not about to make them starve, not when starving means they can’t do their job and they risk losing control.

The sight Connor makes as he masters the speed and strength now available to him is a thing of beauty, though, Hank admits privately to himself. Markus doesn’t let either of them out to ‘hunt’ until he’s sure that they’re in complete control of themselves, and that means lots and lots of sparring, and enough courses and laps around the rusting freighter to make the police academy training look like a cakewalk. Connor’s always been agile, always ran like a fucking greyhound, but now it’s almost ridiculous; Hank honestly thinks Connor could outrun him in the full shift, and if he stepped into the ring with Connor, he’d end up flat on his back in no time at all. Not that he’d mind.

And that’s… not really a thought he needs to be having around a bunch of vampires, much less around _Connor._ Hank’s been avoiding it ever since Connor dumped his drink out onto the floor of Jimmy’s, but Connor’s left one hell of an impression on him.

Kamski wasn’t the only one who’d always like pretty, quick-witted people.

It’s more than just physical, though, Hank admits to himself in the quiet of his dark house, Sumo snoring at the end of the bed, staring unseeing at the ceiling. Connor’s _good,_ in every way. He’s a good cop, good detective, and a good man. Good-looking, too, but Hank’s already covered that. Working with Connor, spending time with him… The past few months have been the best in his life since Cole died, since his life spiraled and he did nothing to stop it.

But it’s not like he’s going to do anything to change what they have right now, Hank thinks with a heavy sigh. Connor’s got enough on his plate already, he doesn’t need to know about the pathetic werewolf old enough to be his father panting after him. That would be a bit much to ask him to deal with on top of figuring out the brand new set of instincts he’s been handed.

Rolling over onto his side, Hank tries to ignore just how _empty_ the bed feels, even with Sumo at his feet.

* * *

Connor and Nines return to duty two weeks after the op in Ferndale. The two of them field questions about their absence, but with Fowler’s heads-up and preconstructed cover story, it’s easy enough to keep everyone else in the department from being suspicious about the fact that they’d both missed two weeks.

It’s slightly harder getting used to the sound and temptations of so many heartbeats in one place, but they manage. It’s harder for Connor to not react to the uptick in heartbeats when a suspect is brought in, struggling or tripping, but even that gets easier with time.

What’s most interesting, though, is the fact that Connor can now hear exactly how flustered Nines can make his partner; he’s watched Reed and Nines bicker too many times to count, but the first time he hears Nines blatantly _flirt_ with Reed, Connor thinks Reed’s heart has stopped altogether for a moment. Then he starts blustering something in response, and Connor has to make a beeline for the bathroom before Reed overhears his choked laughter.

Hank says it’s about damn time someone replaced that stick up Reed’s ass with something better that day in the car when Connor tells him about it, and Connor has to resist the urge to bash his head into the dashboard at the mental image. “Thanks a lot,” he mutters, scowling. “That’s - That’s _exactly_ what I needed in my head now that I literally cannot forget anything, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Hank says cheerfully. “Payback for your comment about Ben the other day.”

“I didn’t say anything about him and _sex_ though!” Connor protests; Hank’s answering comment is cut off by the radio crackling. Hank answers, sharing a brief conversation with dispatch before putting the radio back. Connor’s already flipping on the lights, giving Hank a tight smile. “Sounds like a mess, we should probably get there as soon as possible,” he says.

Nodding tightly, Hank steps on the gas.

* * *

The scent of drugged blood is sharp in the air, making Connor’s nose wrinkle as they approach the scene; he’s barely listening to Miller listing off the facts of the scene. Becoming a vampire sharpened all of his senses, made it easier to pick out the fine details missed by human eyes.

What that means, in this case, is that Connor notices the set of footprints in the dust, hears the agitated out-of-place heartbeat, just in time to throw himself in front of Miller, taking a bullet to the shoulder that would have hit Miller in the chest.

Connor shakes it off, taking off after the shooter, chasing him down the alleyway and waiting only long enough to be sure that he’s out of sight of everyone else before he lets himself run as fast he can, overtaking the shooter before he reaches the end of the next alley. He has to blink away the urge to bare his teeth, grab his prey and bite, _feed,_ but he manages, tackling the fleeing shooter and rolling them so that he takes the brunt of their impact into the ground.

The guy struggles to his feet, trying to bring his gun up for a second shot, but Connor’s faster, twisting the pistol out of his grip hard enough he hears a finger snap, and he winces as he wrestles the man into a pair of cuffs, reciting his rights by memory.

The man cusses him out the whole way back to the main crime scene, where Hank’s waiting for him with a raised eyebrow. The two of them escort the shooter to a waiting patrol car, and quickly wrap up their duties at the crime scene.

As soon as they’re safely in Hank’s car, he reaches over and cuffs Connor upside the back of the head. “ _Ow!_ ” Connor yelps, more on instinct than any real sense of pain. “What the hell, Hank?”

“You just _jumped in front of a bullet,_ ” Hank retorts, fishing out a flattened chunk of metal from his pocket and holding it up to Connor’s face. “You’re lucky I found that and was able to convince Chris that the shot went wide. Did you not see how I was standing so no one could see the back of your jacket?”

“I - “ Connor stops, twisting in the seat so he can pull the fabric of his jacket over his shoulder; sure enough, there’s a hole in it, just big enough to be noticeable. “Shit. I didn’t even think - I just heard his heartbeat, knew that Chris was the closest human, and I moved.”

Hank sighs. “That’s admirable, kid, but we’re gonna have to do something about your wardrobe if you’re going to be making this a habit.”

Connor makes a face at him. “I’m not a _kid,_ especially not now,” he grumbles. “Besides, how often is it going to happen? How often have _you_ been shot on duty?”

“More than enough times to know it’s a pain in the ass trying to hide the fact that I don’t have a hole in me afterwards,” Hank retorts. “Next time at least try to make sure it hits your arm; that’s easier to explain than your shoulder.”

Connor sighs. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he mutters.

The two of them ride to the station in silence broken only by the thumping bass of heavy metal.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day?????
> 
> Head’s up!!!
> 
> Just wanted to pop in and say that there’s a scene in here where Connor gets injured by a feral werewolf and ends up feeding from Hank - it’s described in some detail from Connor’s POV, and both he and Hank get aroused by it, and that is described along with Connor’s thoughts on the situation.

Hank’s been acting weird ever since Connor got shot.

He doesn’t _seem_ distant, but Connor’s noticed Hank staring at him more often, noticed that Hank’s slower to respond when Connor addresses him sometimes. Connor hasn’t been able to find a common thread, but he’s determined to; he and Hank had been getting along well before he’d been bitten, and then before he’d been shot, but he can’t think of any real reason why Hank’s demeanor might have changed.

“Maybe it’s finally sinking in that you and I are ‘leeches’ now,” Nines suggests when Connor brings it up to him one night at their apartment. “He’s a werewolf, after all; we’re natural enemies.”

“Says the vampire who’s about two pick-up lines away from fucking a werewolf,” Connor snorts. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“He’s an _alpha_ , though; their instincts are stronger,” Nines says thoughtfully. “He might feel that difference more keenly than Gavin does.”

“Hank’s also not enough of an asshole to not tell me if that’s the problem,” Connor shoots back. “Besides, he spent three damn days at my side when I was changing.”

Nines’s unimpressed look tells Connor what he thinks about that, and Connor can’t help the sinking feeling in his chest as he turns away from Nines, heads for the door with a muttered excuse about needing more room to pace.

What if Nines is right? Connor values their friendship, wishes they could be more, but what if Hank can’t look past the fact that Connor’s a vampire and he’s a werewolf now? What if that ruins their friendship, affects their working relationship? How could Connor handle that?

For the first time since waking up in Kamski’s house, Connor wonders if maybe it would have been better if he’d never known about the supernatural - if he and Nines had never moved away from Ann Arbor.

* * *

Hank’s behavior doesn’t get better over the next several days - though it doesn’t get _worse,_ and Connor counts that as a small blessing, even if he’s still worried about Hank’s wavering distance. He’s forced to reconsider that position quickly, however. Reed has never paid much attention to Connor even after Connor and Nines were both changed, but when he actually asks Connor what’s going on with him and Hank, Connor knows that something has to be done. If _Reed_ is asking him what the fuck is wrong with him and Hank, then things are starting to get bad.

The only problem now is, how the hell is he supposed to bring this up to Hank? Connor ponders this as he drives the two of them from ChickenFeed to their newest crime scene. The call had come in as Hank was paying for his order, so when Connor had offered to drive so that Hank could eat, all Hank had done was toss the keys at him.

Hank’s mouth is full when the radio crackles, dispatch calling their car, so Connor picks up. “Detective Stern; what’s the update?”

“ _New evidence raises possibility of victim being target of directed animal assault. You are advised to be on the lookout for a large dog while on the way to and at the crime scene._ ”

“Roger that, dispatch. Will exercise all due caution.” Connor meets Hank’s gaze as he puts the radio back in its cradle. “Sounds like there’s something more going on at this one.”

“Possibly a feral omega,” Hank says thoughtfully, biting into his burger. “If they go enough full moons on their own, not even running with other omegas, they can turn more wolf than man. Makes them dangerous.”

“Must you talk while you eat?” Connor complains. “We’ll have to keep an eye out for everyone else too, then. Don't want anyone getting hurt if this is a feral hanging out near a kill.”

Hank makes a show of swallowing before he talks again, and Connor rolls his eyes, fighting against the smile that wants to tilt his mouth. “Just don’t go jumping in front of it; if it’s a feral, it’ll peg you as the biggest threat, being a vamp. He’ll be running off of nothing but instincts, and you’ve never fought a wolf in any shift before.”

Connor nods, remembering the vicious way Hank had attacked the vampire who’d bitten him. He’d been in so much pain, then, but he still vividly remembers Hank’s wolf form leaping over him, tearing the vampire limb from limb with barely any resistance. “I’ll be careful,” he promises.

* * *

‘Being careful’ turns out not to matter too much when something’s determined to take your head off your shoulders, it turns out.

The two of them had arrived at the scene just outside of Eden Club, done their duties - but when the manager, another wolf, had told Hank that he’d smelled the omega hanging around, the two of them had split off from the rest of the officers to track the wolf. Hank’s nose was more reliable than Connor’s hearing - until Connor heard the growl coming from behind them after they tracked the omega to an abandoned storefront and broken in.

“Hank!” Connor shouts, a warning that comes only a second before a weight slams into Connor from behind; Connor rolls with it, throwing the wolf off, but not before its claws rip through the flimsy fabric of his shirt and jacket, catching in his skin and tearing through stone-hard flesh as if it were nothing more than butter. Connor grits his teeth against the pain, finishing his roll onto his feet. He can hear Hank growling behind him, but he doesn’t have a chance to look at Hank - wouldn’t risk it if he did - before the omega is on him again.

She’s a beta, eyes blue and wild, red-rimmed. Her hair is matted, clothing tattered; she’s been on her own for a while, and even Hank’s presence isn’t enough to distract her from trying to rip Connor’s throat out with her teeth.

She damn near succeeds, too; by the time Connor manages to throw her hard enough into a wall to stun her long enough for Hank to take his shot, Connor’s a staggering, torn-up mess. There are long furrows of missing flesh in his arms and chest, and Connor doesn’t have the strength left to keep himself on his feet, dropping to his knees hard enough to make himself wince.

Hank’s there, then, hands on Connor’s arms, bracing him, asking him what he needs - and right now, Connor only has one answer.

“Blood,” he says, pants. His gaze locks onto Hank’s throat, where he can _see_ the blood pulsing beneath the surface. “Markus said - fresh blood helps us heal if something happens.”

Hank swears, the movement of his jaw making the tendons in his neck move, and Connor tracks it all with a hungry gaze. Everything in him is telling him that there’s fresh, pulsing blood _right in front of him,_ he just needs to reach out and _take._ Connor shakes his head, trying to focus as Hank starts talking again. “I don’t think - I can’t go out and just haul some unsuspecting bystander in here, Connor,” he’s saying, tone edging into ‘desperate’ territory.

Connor licks his lips, tongue catching on the sharp edges of his teeth, and makes himself look up at Hank, meet Hank’s worried gaze. “I could bite you,” he says, barely above a murmur. “I know how to feed without changing, and you’re immune to the change, anyway.”

Hank’s heartbeat stutters in his chest, and Connor glances down, like if he looks hard enough he can see the muscle responsible move. Hank swallows, though, and Connor drags his gaze back up in time to see the conflict there resolve, harden as Hank nods. “Do it.”

Connor blinks, body still as stone as he processes Hank’s words. Then he’s moving, one hand fisting in Hank’s jacket at his shoulder, the other flying to cover the side of his neck, curling around the nape, fingers tangling in the short hairs there. “You’re sure?” Connor asks - has to, because even if this will speed his healing, this is _huge_ , and Connor can’t just put him to sleep afterwards, count on the fuzziness of the endorphin rush to blur Hank’s memory of Connor feeding.

“I’m sure,” Hank says - and then he tilts his head, chin rising and exposing the side of his neck, where Connor’s gaze fixates on his pulse. “Go ahead, Connor.”

Connor wrestles back the urge to dive in, makes himself move slow enough for Hank to see as he leans forward, hesitates only long enough to brush his lips against Hank’s pulse in a wordless… Apology? Display of gratitude?

Then his lips pull back, baring his teeth, and he _bites._

Hank swears above him, body jerking, and Connor’s grip shifts so that he can hold Hank still through brute strength, work his teeth into the artery and pull them back, letting the blood flow freely into his mouth. He drinks greedily, Hank’s blood hot on his tongue, burning down his throat and through his veins. There’s a savory undercurrent to the metallic taste, something that makes Connor shift closer, press his mouth more firmly against Hank’s neck, chasing the taste.

Connor growls in frustration when the blood stops - he’s nowhere near full, he needs more, and he bites again, higher, smirking when Hank gasps at the second bite. Distantly, Connor’s aware that Hank’s blood tastes different, a sharp tang overtaking the savory undercurrent before, and when Connor presses in close, all but climbing into Hank’s lap, he feels Hank’s cock against his own, subconsciously purring at the realization that Hank’s _turned on_ by this. His own hips roll, a slow movement that feels amazing, makes Hank’s breathing hitch -

But it wouldn’t be right to do anything more, Connor realizes, rational thought returning to him as the fresh blood works its way through his system. Reluctantly, he eases back, unable to stop himself from chasing the last few trickles of blood as Hank’s healing starts working, sealing the second bite. Connor sits back on his haunches, easing his grip on Hank, biting his lip as he watches Hank’s slack expression anxiously. “Hank?”

Hank blinks, focusing on Connor for a moment, his pupils blown so wide there’s barely any hint of iris. “I’m good,” he says, giving Connor a crooked smile. His heartbeat is still fast, a flush to his face, and Connor can’t help but sneak a glance downward, breath leaving him at the sight of the obvious bulge in Hank’s pants.

Connor jerks his gaze back up, offering Hank a weak smile, reaching up to swipe at his mouth with a thumb to collect the blood he can feel clinging to his lips. “Good,” he says. “I didn’t want to - I wasn’t trying not to take too much.”

“You didn’t,” Hank reassures him; Connor watches the way his own gaze tracks Connor’s thumb as he licks the last of his blood off of it, and he thinks, _Maybe_ …

He keeps thinking as Hank helps him to his feet, hands him his jacket to use to cover the tears in Connor’s own, and as they head back to the car to call Fowler.

_Maybe..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS NOW ART BY THE AWESOME [@wow_thenn ON TWITTER!!!!](https://twitter.com/wow__thenn/status/1151561177350066176?s=09)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE LONG AWAITED MOMENT HAS ARRIVED
> 
> FIRSTS ABOUND IN THIS CHAPTER! PREPARE YOURSELF FOR FLUFF AND SMUT, AND ALSO SOME BLOODY (literally) KINKS

Hank spends several minutes prodding at and examining his neck that night; part of him wishes, however briefly, that he _didn’t_ heal so well, because he wanted to have those marks from Connor for just a little bit longer. The other, louder part reminds him just how bad of an idea it would be, to have such a prominent reminder of Connor’s mouth on his skin.

Hank still jerks off in the shower, coming with a shout muffled into his fist at the memory of Connor’s tongue tracing over his skin as he’d pulled away.

He and Connor had both had some trouble looking each other in the eye immediately afterward, but by the next day, they’re back to normal. Connor continues poking fun at Hank, being a sarcastic little shit, and Hank keeps being his usual grumpy self while trying to wrap his head around the fact that Connor is now as good as immortal, yesterday’s events not-withstanding. Connor probably would have been fine even if Hank hadn’t agreed to let him drink from him; it just would’ve taken him a bit longer to heal.

It takes Hank a pathetically long time to realize that something’s up with Connor’s behavior; it takes Fowler holding him back after a debrief, as a matter of fact. “You and Stern seem to be getting along well,” Fowler says, apropos of nothing. “Despite the species difference.”

Hank snorts. “Yeah, we’re doing fine,” he says, leaning against the door and eyeing his friend warily. “You didn’t ask me to stay just for small talk about that, though.”

“I didn’t,” the captain admits easily. “How is he taking to being a vampire?”

“Pretty well. Had a couple cases of bruising, snapped one guy’s finger when wrestling a gun out of his hand, but nothing that could actually be termed brutality or be cause for concern.”

“And the other day, with the omega?”

Hank’s mouth twists into a grimace. “He’s fully recovered from that, Jeff. He handled himself well, but I’m going to start insisting we spar with no holds barred to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Fowler eyes him thoughtfully, and Hank feels his hackles rise higher the longer Fowler just stares at him. “I’m sure you will, Hank,” he says slowly. “I know how you get about protecting the people you care about. Maybe think about actually _talking_ with him as well, let him know what’s going on in that thick skull of yours. Don’t think either Stern got any of those special gifts when they changed, so they can’t read your mind.”

Hank frowns. “What are you on about?”

“I saw how you acted with Ellen, Hank,” Fowler reminds him, not unkindly. “It’s like I’m watching history repeat itself here, except right in my damn bullpen instead of in the local park.”

Hank stiffens. “I - That’s not - _We’re_ not - “

“I know you’re not,” Fowler interrupts. “But you two could be. Frankly, I don’t give a damn, because you’re both adults and sometimes I honestly think that he’s more responsible than you.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you, Jeff,” Hank complains, rolling his eyes - but he can’t hide the flush of his neck and face.

Fowler smirks. “I’d say the same about Nines and Reed - and I’m honestly expecting Reed to walk in here with a limp any day now. But Connor’s been all but hanging off of you the past couple of days, Hank. Get your head out of your ass; you’ve still got centuries left, and you shouldn’t spend them alone and miserable.”

Hank just flips the bird over his shoulder, fleeing Fowler’s office and making a beeline for the breakroom and the distraction of coffee.

* * *

“You owe me ten bucks, Lieutenant.”

“What?” Hank grunts, glancing up from his terminal to where Connor is smirking at him. Connor nods towards the entrance of the bullpen, and Hank shifts his focus, swearing when he notices Reed and Nines standing next to each other. That’s not unusual; what _is_ is the careful way that Reed is holding himself, and the distinctive bite marks just barely peeking out over the popped collar of his jacket. And the excessively smug smirk that Nines shoots Connor.

“C’mon, Hank,” Connor laughs, holding out a hand. “Pay up. You bet they’d last until the full moon, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank grumbles, digging into his back pocket for his wallet, pulling out two fives and passing them over. “Quit being so smug.”

“Never,” Connor smirks. “But maybe I’ll use this money to get the good popcorn for our movie night tomorrow. _If_ you agree to watch _The Lost Boys_ with me.”

Hank groans, but the temptation of the gourmet popcorn he doesn’t splurge on often is too much to resist. “Fine,” he sighs. “We can watch that trash fire of a film.”

Hank tells his heart to quit acting up when Connor smiles at him and it skips a beat.

* * *

True to his word, Connor stops by the shop with the gourmet popcorn, picking up a bag of Hank’s preferred garlic-parmesan-flavored kettle corn and a six-pack(that will _not_ be having any sort of wolfsbane put into it tonight). Hank groans when Connor stops him from getting the wolfsbane, but then begrudgingly concedes that the beer tastes fine on its own before settling onto the couch, letting Connor get the movie set up and himself settled. Connor quickly calls Sumo up onto the couch, ignoring Hank’s protests - like Hank doesn’t let Sumo onto the couch all the time, anyway - and encouraging Sumo onto his lap.

“Doesn’t he make your legs go dead?” Hank wonders aloud.

“Technically, all of me is already dead,” Connor points out cheerfully, ruffling Sumo’s fur and giving his ears a good scratch. “And he’s a good boy who deserves all the cuddles and doesn’t mind laying on a talking corpse, do you Sumo?” Connor laughs when Hank elbows him.

“Must you make jokes about that?” Hank complains, grabbing the remote and pressing ‘play.’

“What, like you’ve never made a dog person joke in your life?” Connor counts it as a victory when Hank flushes and goes quiet, the opening credits filling the silence that falls between them.

 _The Lost Boys_ is a truly awful masterpiece; Connor sits in horrified fascination through the whole thing, and when the final credits roll across the screen, he just starts… laughing. Really, there’s no other reaction he can possibly come up with that fully encompasses what he’s feeling other than bewildered laughter and the occasional _“What the fuck?”_

“Welcome to my world,” Hank says dryly, grinning. “We should watch _What We Do in the Shadows_ next if we’re going to do vampire movies tonight.”

Connor passes a hand over his face, struggling to get himself back under control. “Yeah, alright,” he says after a moment. “Queue it up, Hank.”

That movie turns out to be an absolute _delight,_ and Connor quickly decides he has a new favorite. By the time the credits are rolling, though, Hank’s yawning, and Sumo has abandoned his place on Connor’s lap in favor of his bed in the corner of the living room. Connor’s watching Hank thoughtfully, taking in the the play of the light from the television over Hank’s face, thoughts racing a mile a minute.

Hank seems to sense the scrutiny, because after a moment he glances over at Connor, eyebrow raised. “Something on your mind?”

Connor hums thoughtfully. “Does garlic affect vampires?”

Hank’s brows draw together. “Far as I know, it only affects one ancient strain in Italy - call themselves the Volturi, or something, I dunno. Kamski called them a bunch of elite pricks. Why?”

Connor shifts on the couch until his knees are pressed against Hank’s thighs, one hand resting on top of Hank’s leg. “Because I’d really like to kiss you, but you just polished off a whole bag of garlic-parmesan popcorn.”

“Well, I think you should be - Wait. _What?_ ”

Connor grins. “I want to kiss you, Hank. May I?”

Hank’s eyes are wide, gaze flicking over Connor’s face rapidly. Connor lets his expression remain open, hope and affection clear. “You… want to kiss me,” Hank says slowly, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing - like it refuses to sink in. “Why?”

Connor blinks, then chuckles. “Because I like you, Hank. Quite a lot, actually. And I happen to find you very attractive, as well.” He tilts his head, lets his lips curve into a smirk as he adds, “I’m also fairly sure that _you_ find _me_ attractive.”

“I, well, that’s - “ Hank splutters out something vaguely resembling a protest, color rising high on his cheeks, and Connor tracks the movement with a delighted grin. “Jesus, Connor, you don’t just go _saying_ shit like that.”

“Why not?” Conner counters. “ _You_ weren’t going to say anything, were you?”

“Well, no, but that’s because you deserve better, damn it.”

Connor frowns, sitting back on his haunches; something tells him that this is something that needs to be cleared up before he pushes this any further. “What makes you say that?” he asks carefully.

“I - Fucking hell, Connor, look at me,” Hank sighs, gestures to himself. “I’m an alpha werewolf without a pack, ageing too quickly thanks to going on a decade of heavy alcohol abuse and suicidal tendencies.”

“I have been looking, Hank,” Connor says quietly, earnestly. “I’ve been looking - and I see you. You’re not perfect, but no one is. You’ve had a difficult time of things, but you’re not dead yet. You never gave up, never made certain that the bullet was in the next chamber. I don’t see anything about you that would dissuade me from loving you, Hank.”

Hank sucks in a sharp breath, gaze flying up from his knees to meet Connor’s, eyes wide. “What did you say?”

Connor’s smile is small, shy. “I don’t love you yet,” he admits. “But I know I could - I want to.”

Hank’s eyes, if possible, get wider. His heart is pounding; Connor can see the way his pulse jumps, even in the shadows. “I - Connor, I - “ Hank stops, takes a deep breath; when he looks at Connor again, there’s determination in his gaze, trepidation in the set of his jaw. “I want to love you, too. However you’ll let me, for as long as you’ll let me.”

Connor’s smile grows, and he leans in closer, letting his hand rest on Hank’s chest, not quite bracing himself. “I just might give you forever,” he says, a murmured warning. “You prepared for that?”

The corner of Hank’s mouth twitches upwards. “I think I can make do.”

They close the distance between themselves at the same time, their lips meeting in a soft kiss that quickly turns desperate. Connor barely resists the urge to climb into Hank’s lap, instead hauling Hank bodily off of the couch, smirking at the glazed look that takes over Hank’s expression at the display of strength. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on your couch that smells like old dog,” Connor laughs, taking Hank’s hand in his and leading him around the couch. “I’d rather do this on your bed.”

“The bed that smells like old werewolf?” Hank snorts, but he follows easily, twining his fingers with Connor’s and pausing only long enough to turn the television off before the two of the head for the bedroom.

“The bed that smells like _you,_ ” Connor counters, pulling Hank into the bedroom, pressing him up against the wall beside the door and drawing him into another lingering kiss, squeezing Hank’s hand before he reaches for the hem of his shirt, tugging pointedly.

“Only if you let me take yours off,” Hank says, gasps, and Connor growls out his consent, the two of them moving so quickly they nearly get tangled in each other and their own clothes. Something definitely gets ripped in the process, but Connor can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. It’s far more important right now that their clothes be _off_ than intact, and as soon as they’re gone, Connor presses up against Hank again, hands twisting into Hank’s hair, tugging until he’s got Hank’s mouth angled _just right_ for his own to slot against, moaning as Hank’s hands land on his waist, squeezing hard enough to have bruised if he were human, holding him still as Hank rolls his hips against Connor.

“ _Bed,_ ” Connor growls, nipping at Hank’s bottom lip hard enough to sting. “Now, Hank.”

“Yes, sir,” Hank laughs, his grip shifting, the palms of his hand running over Connor’s ass before curving under his thighs, lifting him up. Connor wraps his arms around Hank’s shoulders, his legs around his waist, and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against his pulse.

“Y’know,” he mumbles against the hot skin beneath his mouth, tracing the line of a tendon with his tongue when Hank pauses, “next time you’ll have to fuck me up against a wall.”

Hank swears, dropping Connor onto the mattress so that he bounces, immediately following and covering Connor’s body with his own. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me,” he growls, ducking in for another kiss, hands roaming up and over Connor’s ribs. “Haven’t even fucked you once, and you’ve already got plans for next time?”

“Like you haven’t been thinking about this,” Connor shoots back, digging his nails into the meat of Hank’s shoulders just to delight in the hiss it earns him. “ _God,_ the things I want to do to you, Hank.”

“Yeah?” Hank asks, voice rough - when he pulls back enough to catch Connor’s eye, his pupils are blown wide, almost as wide as they’d been when Connor had fed from him. “Things like what?”

“I want to get my teeth in you again,” Connor confesses in a purr, one finger tracing the line of Hank’s pulse. “I want to taste it in your blood when you come in me, fill me up.” Hank swears, hips jerking, earning a hiss from Connor when their cocks brush together - Connor had fed earlier today, stolen blood pumping through his system and keeping things working in a facsimile of how they had when he was alive. Connor smirks at Hank’s reaction, his other hand smoothing over Hank’s flank to cup his ass, pull him into a filthy grind. “That sound good?”

“ _Fuck yes,_ that sounds good,” Hank gasps, ducking into for a desperate kiss. “Christ, I haven’t - You have no idea how many times I jerked off thinking about you biting me, the way you climbed into my lap, your mouth on me - “

“We could recreate that later,” Connor suggests, hooking one leg around Hank’s, pulling them closer together as he rakes his nails over Hank’s back, mouth covering the groan Hank lets out at the feeling. “But I want you to try to hold me down, Hank - you’re an alpha, I want you to show me what that means. I want to feel you struggle, try to pin me down.”

Hank bares his teeth, eyes flashing red in the dim light, and Connor thrills at the sight. “You want me to fight back, bloodsucker?” Hank growls, grabbing Connor’s wrists in his hands, yanking them above Connor’s head roughly.

“ _Yes,”_  Connor hisses, back arching, his own teeth bared. “I want you to try and stop me, alpha.” He locks his legs with Hank’s, twists his hips, throws the two of the them to the side and circles his hands until Hank’s wrists are the ones in _his_ grip, Hank pinned beneath him. “I bet if your adrenaline gets pumping, it’ll make you taste _delicious._ ”

“You’ll have to bite me first,” Hank retorts, yanking one hand out of Connor’s grip, and when it wraps around the back of Connor’s neck, he feels claws press against his skin. Hank hauls him forward into a kiss, licking into his mouth, the press of his fangs against Connor’s mouth intoxicating enough to distract him, let Hank get the upper hand. When they roll this time, Connor feels the edge of the bed under his shoulder.

“Careful there, mutt, you’ll roll us right off,” he taunts, testing Hank’s grip on his wrists. The fact that one of Hank’s hands is big enough to hold both of his hands _does something_ to him.

Hank smirks down at him, a few strands of hair escaping the sloppy ponytail he’d taken to wearing off-shift. He leans in until they tickle Connor’s face, until his mouth is barely an inch from Connor’s. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m just grabbing something,” he murmurs; Connor hears the bedside drawer rattle, knows what Hank’s reaching for - and as soon as Hank sits up, Connor breaks his hold, surging up until he’s got Hank on his back again, arms pinned.

Connor glances up at the bottle of lube in Hank’s grip, grins down at Hank as he rolls his hips just to watch Hank’s jaw clench against a moan. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a bit of a dilemma here,” Connor hums. “We both want you to fuck me, but someone needs to give up an arm to do that. I don’t plan on just - _Whoa!_ ”

Hank’s eyes flash again, and then the world spins, nonexistent breath leaving Connor’s lungs when he’s slammed face-first into the mattress, Hank’s weight trapping him on his stomach. Hank’s sitting on his thighs, leaning over him long enough to grab his arms, wrestle them behind Connor’s back like he’s going to cuff Connor, and then he leans forward long enough to press sharp fangs to the nape of Connor’s neck, make him freeze deathly still. “Think I just solved our dilemma,” he growls, teeth scraping over Connor’s neck, dragging an unwilling moan from his throat.

Hank’s laugh is deep, rumbling dark against Connor’s skin. “ _Hank,_ ” Connor whines, bucking underneath him. “Please,” he gasps.

“You sure changed your tune quick,” Hank hums, sitting up right, his weight settling over Connor’s thighs again. His hand drifts over Connor’s backs, claws just barely skimming over the knobs of his spine, and Connor pants, open-mouthed, against the bedspread. By the time his hand reaches his ass, the claws are gone, and when the sound of the lube bottle opening reaches his ears, Connor can’t help but whine, legs spreading as much as they can beneath Hank’s weight in anticipation.

Hank chuckles again when Connor hisses in surprise as lube drips directly over his hole. When Hank’s finger traces over his hole, Connor whines again, a wordless plea as he cants his hips. “I know you don’t _need_ to breathe,” Hank says conversationally, “but you might find it’s a good distraction.”

“For fuck’s sake, Hank, just - _hnngh,_ ” Connor groans as Hank presses in with one finger, a slow, constant pressure that leaves Connor gasping against the sheets, wrists twisting in Hank’s grip. “ _Shit,_ that’s it,” Connor sighs.

“Yeah?” Hank asks, murmurs; when Connor nods, he leans forward, pressing another kiss against Connor’s nape before he sets about working Connor open and towards the edge of sanity.

Connor loses time, writhing on the bed beneath Hank, unwilling to seriously attempt breaking his hold to speed things up; he’s waited too long to get Hank’s hands on him to change a single damn thing about this. Hank works him up to two fingers, three, and then four before Connor finally loses his patience. He waits until Hank’s pulled his hand back, ready for another teasing thrust in, and in a blur of movement he breaks Hank’s hold and rolls the two of them until Hank’s on his back, Connor kneeling over him. “That’s enough,” Connor says sharply, rocking back against Hank’s cock, smirking at the way Hank chokes on his protest. “I’m _beyond_ ready to get your cock in me, Hank. You make me wait any longer, and I might go find our cuffs.”

Hank’s eyes widen, and Connor tucks that reaction away for a bit of fun later. Hank clears his throat, his hands landing on Connor’s waist as he sits up. “You sure?” he asks, leaning in for a kiss.

Connor gives it to him readily, then rolls them one more time, pulling Hank on top of him, grinning at Hank’s exasperated expression. “I’m sure,” he says, rolling his hips. “C’mon, Hank. _Fuck_ me.”

“Well, don’t say you didn’t ask for it,” Hank laughs, reaching between them to line himself up. When he pushes in, Connor breathes out, bears down, and sighs as Hank _finally_ sinks into him. He fucks into Connor in slow thrusts, taking his time working his entire length into Connor - but Connor’s patience runs out when Hank pauses once he’s fully seated, mouth open to probably ask if Connor’s okay.

Connor digs into nails into the side of Hank’s neck, right over the place he’s planning to sink his teeth into in a moment, and smirks when Hank swears at him. “ _Move,_ Hank,” he orders, rocking his hips, legs locked around Hank’s waist.

Hank’s eyes narrow - and when he pulls back, Connor barely has time to brace himself before Hank does as ordered. Connor throws his head back, teeth bared and clinging to Hank as Hank fucks him fast and furious, hard enough to rock the bed. Heat coils in his gut, winds tighter with each thrust of Hank’s hips, and when Connor looks at Hank he’s not much better; his teeth are bared, eyes a burning red as he watches the place where his cock is fucking into Connor, and the bloodlust rises in him so quickly, Connor’s helpless to do anything but pull Hank down so he can press his lips against Hank’s pulse.

Here, he makes himself stop, against every screaming instinct. “May I?” he asks, has to be sure. Mixing pain and pleasure is a dangerous business for humans and supernaturals alike.

Hank groans, burying his face in Connor’s shoulder. “Do it,” he gasps, breathing ragged, hips stuttering against Connor’s ass. “Fucking - _Bite me._ ”

Connor grins, teeth scraping against the flesh beneath them, and then he does as Hank demands, sinking his teeth into Hank’s neck right over the pulsing artery, tongue laving the sensitive skin, lapping up the blood he spills. Hank’s blood tastes like he smells, amplified by a hundred, the citrus taste of arousal lacing through it, sharp against Connor’s tongue.

When the first bite seals, Connor doesn’t waste time before biting again, lower this time, moving with the erratic rocking of Hank’s body. Hank’s blood becomes sharper, more sour - “You’re close, aren’t you?” Connor murmurs against his skin, Hank’s blood painting his lips as he does.

“Yeah,” Hank grunts, his grip on Connor shifting, one hand clamped almost painfully tight over his hip, claws piercing the skin, the other twisted in Connor’s hair, pressing him close. “Yeah, I’m close. You?”

“Me, too,” Connor hums, dragging his lips up over Hank’s neck, pulling back just enough to admire the way the blood matches the blaze of his eyes. “C’mon, Hank,” he purrs, leaning in to press his teeth against unbitten skin, shifting to catch his teeth against the tendon straining under the skin, smirking when Hank _growls_ at him. Hank’s hips stutter again, his rhythm faltering - and when Connor breaks the skin again, just below Hank’s jaw, he comes with an honest-to-God _roar._

The taste of his orgasm, the rush of endorphins in his blood, bursts over Connor’s tongue and pushes him over the edge as well. His teeth dig into Hank’s neck, grip tightening on Hank’s shoulders, holding him in place as they come. Gradually, Connor loosens his hold, carefully working his teeth loose from Hank’s neck, gently cleaning the blood from his neck. He chuckles when Hank rumbles against him, smiles when he feels Hank’s lips press a kiss against his neck.

Connor suppresses a wince when Hank’s cock slips out of his ass. “How are you feeling?” he asks, studying Hank intently.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, since you just got fucked through the mattress?” Hank asks wryly. He leans in for a kiss, then pauses. “You’ve still got blood on your lips, Connor.”

“Oops.” Connor wipes his mouth, sucks the blood off of his fingers just to hear Hank swear at him. “My ass is fine, by the way. What about your neck?”

Hank carefully twists his head, wincing slightly. “Little sore,” he admits. “Think you dug in a little too hard there at the end.”

Connor tugs Hank into an apologetic kiss, rolling the two of them onto their sides. “I’ll be more careful next time,” he promises, throwing one leg over Hank’s hip, smiling when Hank pulls him in close.

“Is this going to be the same next time where I fuck you up against a wall?” Hank asks wryly, laughing when Connor thumps him in the chest. “I’m just teasing, darling.”

“Don’t say it like you don’t have ideas of your own,” Connor sniffs. “You don’t fuck someone like that if you haven’t been wanting to for at least _months._ ”

Hank hums thoughtfully. “It probably has been months,” he concedes. “And I do have some ideas. But I’ll have to share them with you after a nap.”

Connor makes a face. “Really? You’re going to sleep _now?”_

Hank raises an eyebrow. “You have an objection?”

Connor leans back, makes to push himself out of bed. “Well, I _was_ going to go clean up in the shower, and it _is_ big enough for two - “

The rest of his sentence is lost in a laugh as Hank sweeps him into his arms.


	11. Chapter 11

Hank wakes to the smell of frying bacon. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, frowning, trying to figure out who the hell might be in his kitchen - but when he stretches, feels the pleasant, swiftly-fading ache in his muscles, his neck, it all comes back.

There’s no one to see it, but Hank buries his grin in his pillow regardless. Last night was amazing, more than Hank could’ve hoped for - and far, _far_ more than he was ever expecting.

It takes everything in him not to spring out of bed like a pup, instead making himself at least put on boxers before he heads for the kitchen, smiling as he takes in the sight of Connor standing over the stove, a bowl of what looks like pancake batter next to a plate of crispy bacon. Hank doesn’t resist the urge to come up behind Connor, wrap his arms around his waist and press a kiss to the join of his neck and shoulder, smiling against the skin there.

“Good morning, Hank,” Connor says with a chuckle, leaning back, tilting his head for a kiss Hank readily gives. Connor turns his attention back to the stove, and Hank rests his chin on Connor’s shoulder, watching him cook.

“Y’know, you don’t have to cook for me every time you spend the night,” he comments.

“I know, but I want to,” Connor counters easily, flipping the pancake in the skillet with a practiced motion. “Especially after I fed from you.”

Hank hums, pressing another kiss to Connor’s cheek before moving away, towards the fridge to grab a drink. “I’m a werewolf, I heal quick. That includes replenishing blood,” he points out, leaning against the counter and snagging a piece of bacon to munch on.

Connor’s eyes narrow into a glare aimed at Hank, who grins, and then Connor sighs. “I know, but I still want to cook for you. You’ve been eating far too much takeout, even for a werewolf.”

Hank groans theatrically. “Is this what dating you costs? You’re going to make me go on a _diet?_ ” he complains, grinning when Connor stills, outright laughing when Connor socks him in the shoulder.

“I’m not putting you _on_ a diet, just encouraging change in your existing one,” Connor sniffs - but he can’t look Hank in the eye, glancing up and away almost too quickly for Hank to track. It makes Hank smile, though; it’s harder now to tell when Connor is flustered, but Hank’s learning. “Go sit down at the table, this is almost ready.”

Hank smiles, gives in to the urge to tug Connor into a proper kiss. “Thank you,” he says, serious for a moment.

Connor’s answering smile is soft, fond. “You’re welcome. Now shoo, go sit.”

“Yes, sir,” Hank laughs, doing as bid. He knows the smile on his face as he watches Connor move about his kitchen is ridiculously fond, _sappy_ even, but he honestly couldn’t care less. He’d been staring down the barrel of a lifetime of loneliness - if he hadn’t killed himself through recklessness, drinking, or Russian Roulette first - and now, somehow, he’s gotten Connor, his partner in more meanings of the word than one.

Maybe he can let himself start being optimistic again.

* * *

Hank catches more than a few bills exchanging hands when he and Connor walk into the precinct the next day, after having spent their day off together. It hadn’t been _all_ day in bed, but damned if Connor hadn't tried his best to make it that way. It had been one of the best days Hank had had in a long time, and he’s old enough to not give (much) of a shit about what anyone else thinks about the two of them coming in together, Hank’s arm around Connor’s waist.

Fowler gives him a significant look through the glass walls of his office; Hank flips him off, ignoring the double-bird that Fowler gives back. There’s some ribbing from the other officers, outright teasing from Reed and Nines, but even so, Hank wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. Once everyone gets the need to tease out of their systems, Hank’s life settles into something almost perfect. There’s still murders to solve, assholes to chase and catch - but now, more often than not, Hank doesn’t go home alone at the end of his shift, Connor tagging along or dragging Hank out on double dates with his brother and Reed.

The first full moon is… _interesting,_ to say the least; Hank’s used to making the hour and a half drive to Swanton, Ohio, alone, nothing but music to keep him company as he heads for the closest national forest where he can run freely. That plan is unchanged until about half an hour before Hank is due to leave, as he’s setting up Sumo for the night.

There’s the sound of a vehicle pulling into his driveway, then footsteps on his front porch; when Hank opens the door, Connor’s standing there, grinning. “Good, we made it! You’re heading to Swanton tonight, right?”

“Yes,” Hank says slowly, poking his head out to see Reed and Nines having what looks like a slap fight in the other vehicle idling in his driveway. “What’re you all doing here?”

“We’d like to come with you,” Connor says brightly. “Nines and I haven’t been outside of the city since we moved, and Reed hasn’t been on a full moon run with another wolf in years.”

Hank squints at Connor, glancing back at where Nines now has Reed in a headlock. “I’m not sure I’m up to babysitting tonight,” he says dryly.

“Nines can take care of Reed,” Connor says dismissively. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! And,” he adds, lowering his voice and leaning in, the smirk that curves his mouth making Hank’s heart trip over itself in his chest, “I’m sure you and I can find _some_ way of entertaining ourselves afterward.”

The thought’s tempting - not just Connor’s last proposition, but having company for the first full moon in years. It doesn’t take long to make his decision, and Hank heaves a put-upon sigh, fighting a smile at the grin that breaks across Connor’s face. “Fine,” Hank says, like he’s the one doing Connor a favor. “But you’re riding with me.”

“Done,” Connor says instantly, leaning in for a quick kiss. “I’ll go let Reed and Nines know. Do you need me to help with anything?”

“Nah, just wait in the car,” Hank says, excitement growing. “I’ll finish putting out food and water for Sumo, let him out one more time, then we can get going.”

Connor grins at him, turning to step off of the porch and go break up the fight between his brother and his brother’s boyfriend. Hank lets Sumo out into the backyard as he fills up his bowls, waiting impatiently for him to finish his business before letting him back in. Hank does one more circle of the house, double-checking the locks, and then gives Sumo a hearty petting before heading out the front door, locking it behind him.

Reed and Nines are, miraculously, still behaving themselves as Hank walks around to the driver’s side of his car, sliding in and quickly buckling up. “They give you much trouble?”

“Nope,” Connor says easily, pulling Hank into a lingering kiss. “Reed’s just antsy about spending a full moon with his potential alpha, and Nines is distracting him.”

“That’s understandable - _Hang on._ ‘Potential alpha’?”

Connor grins. “He told Nines about why he moved to Detroit, Nines told me, we asked about what makes up a pack, he told us, and Nines and I decided that this full moon would be a great time to see if we would do well as a pack.”

Hank shakes his head in disbelief, starting the car and pulling out of his driveway. “Honestly, you two are far too.. _scheme-y_ for your own good.”

Connor laughs at that. “We just know how to play the field,” he says with a smirk. “It’s not our fault that you and Reed are so oblivious.”

“God save me from smug vampires,” Hank mutters, rolling his eyes.

He’s still grinning, though.

* * *

Running with company after so long alone is… _strange,_ to say the least, particularly since two of the three aren’t wolves. But, since Hank knows both vampires and the omega running with him, his wolf accepts them easily. There’s a few false starts, the four of them trying to figure out how to work together when two of the four are having more trouble than usual reining in their instincts, but they figure it out relatively quickly. Connor and Nines decide to stay back until Hank and Reed have sorted themselves out, and once their respective partners are out of the way of immediate ‘danger’, the alpha and beta have an easier time introducing themselves.

Once that’s all sorted, a tension winds through the air, potent enough that even the vampires can feel it. It’s broken by Hank’s howl, Reed joining in with a shorter one of his own, and then as one, the four of them break for the woods. They run while the moon is high, and until it starts dipping towards the horizon; they chase prey and hunt, both wolves showing off for their partners by bringing back still-alive prey for them to feed off of, guided by the human side. Once everyone is sated, things settle down; Reed and Nines split off, never going quite out of hearing range, but doing their own thing while Hank and Connor wander the woods.

By the time the sun is rising, Hank is exhausted in the best kind of way; he and Reed practically drag themselves out of the woods and into the cars with Connor and Nines’s help, and for once Hank doesn’t complain about Reed being openly affectionate with Nines because he’s doing the same with Connor. He can’t help himself; his wolf is truly settled for the first time in years, and a large part of that is thanks to Connor.

The vampires drive them back to Hank’s house, where Hank doesn’t even hesitate before inviting Nines and Reed inside, all of them collapsing onto the couch in a mess of limbs. Hank passes out then, and when he wakes up, the afternoon sun is casting shadows across the living room.

“You look happy,” Connor says from above him; when Hank takes stock of himself, he realizes he’s practically sitting in Connor’s lap, his head on Connor’s shoulder. There’s a weight across his own legs; when he looks, he sees Gavin sprawled out across the rest of the couch and Nines, who’s looking at Gavin with the softest expression Hank’s ever seen on his face.

“I am,” Hank says after a moment, a realization and an affirmation in one. “I really am.”

Lips brush his temple, and Hank sighs, letting himself settle back down into a long-needed, restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally finished!!!!!! Holy crap, this verse was so much fun to write in, and who knows, maybe one day I’ll come back to it! But for now, I have more projects to move on to, including the HCRBB19 fic I’ve signed up for!! Can’t wait for y’all to see the art and fic in August!!


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